


A Wondrous Thing

by simoneallen



Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-06-17
Updated: 2010-06-17
Packaged: 2017-11-07 21:51:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 64,816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/435839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/simoneallen/pseuds/simoneallen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Don’t you think that life should be gay, and bright and lovely, like champagne?”<br/>(Cary Grant as Nickie Ferrante, An Affair to Remember, 1957). As it happens I do, so I wrote this - with all respect intended to Cary Grant, Deborah Kerr and 20th Century Fox, as well as to Paramount et al.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Wondrous Thing

September 

_“…and finally, breaking news for all you galaxy-hopping gossip hounds out there. Intergalactic playboy James T. Kirk is finally off the market. Word has it that lucky Jim is on his way back to Earth on the luxury space liner The Flying Dolphin, and waiting for him at space dock will be none other than his fiancée, the lovely Janice Lester. Yes, Janice Lester, heiress of the Lester business empire. Janice Lester who’s worth a pretty fortune. Lucky Jim indeed…”_

Kirk grimaced as he gradually awoke from his afternoon slumber to the ‘dulcet’ tones of a DJ on one of the less discerning - and more cheesy - radio stations being broadcast on the ship. He reached over from where he was lying on the bed and flicked the off switch. He was used to featuring on the gossip channels and usually found it funny, but he’d heard more than enough about his upcoming nuptials in recent days. The wedding wasn’t even happening for at least another six months, for fuck’s sake. He stretched his arms above his head and yawned lazily before swinging his legs over the side of the bunk and getting up, rubbing his eyes as he headed into the bathroom. 

He peered into the mirror and grinned at the handsome countenance that looked back at him, only slightly crumpled around the edges from his nap. He splashed some water on his face, gasping a little at the coldness of it, then ran his fingers quickly through his tousled hair before drying his hands on one of the ship’s monogrammed towels, which had been replaced regularly on each day they’d been in space, without him once catching sight of any of the cleaning crew. 

Ablutions completed, he headed back into the main room of his luxurious suite. He walked over to the chair where he’d kicked off his footwear and thrown his tuxedo jacket earlier, before he’d flung himself on his bed without discarding the remainder of his clothes. He slipped his feet into the shoes and picked up the jacket. He felt invigorated and ready to head off in search of some entertainment. He was just about to leave when the comm signal went off and, sighing, he turned and reached over to take the call. “Kirk here,” he said as he palmed the switch.

“I have a shore to ship transmission for you, sir.” the comms officer responded. “It’s a Miss Duval,” he added, and Kirk rolled his eyes as the caller was connected.

“Hello, Gabriella,” he said with forced enthusiasm, “how lovely to hear from you.” He winced a little at the sound of his own voice - maybe he was overdoing the charm just a bit, but the cruise corporation that owned the Dolphin had decked it out to emulate the opulence of a sea liner of the 1950s, and the atmosphere of it seemed to be rubbing off on him - he’d felt like a debonair man-about-space ever since he’d first stepped aboard.

“Don’t even talk to me!” came the angry reply from the comm link.

Kirk leant back against the wall, knowing his voice would carry well enough without the need to hunch over the terminal on the desk. The Dolphin took the epithet of ‘luxury’ very seriously - nothing but the best for its passengers, and that went for technology as well as the décor, succulent meals and the crème de la crème in entertainment. “But Gabriella,” he said allowing a slightly hurt tone to creep into his voice, “why’d you call me if you don’t want to talk to me?” 

The words prompted a tirade of abuse, liberally dotted with curses. “I think we’re losing the signal,” Kirk said loudly over the angry proclamations, deciding he’d had enough of this particular conversation. 

“We are not!” came the shrill response. “Jim, I’m warning you. Jim!”

“Comms…we’re losing. Gabriella? I’m losing…” He cut off the connection and shook his head as he headed for the door. ‘Jesus,’ he thought to himself, ‘there was no need to make such a fuss.’ It wasn’t as if he’d made her any promises. He shook his head. He had a feeling he was well out of that particular dalliance.

The door slid open as he approached it, and his eyes widened as it unexpectedly revealed a rather corpulent man with a large, bushy moustache. He was wearing a bright purple tuxedo over a white, ruffled shirt that was straining to contain his girth, and what looked like a replica of a swashbuckling pirate’s dagger was strapped to a wide belt around his waist. You could almost imagine an eye patch completing the outfit. The man’s hand was raised as if he’d been about to press the entry buzzer. His face lit up as he set eyes on Kirk. “Ah, Mr Kirk,” he said, his voice full of expansive, and rather loud, bonhomie. “My name’s Mudd,” he boomed, sticking out his right hand in greeting. “Harry Mudd. I just dropped by to say welcome onboard. I was wondering if you would like to join my wife, her sisters and I for a game of bridge?”

‘Bridge?’ Kirk thought, nonplussed. ‘Who the fuck plays bridge? Especially with a wannabe pirate wearing a gold hoop earring, epaulets and a day-glo tux.’ He frowned. Actually, he wasn’t even sure what bridge was, let alone how you played it.

He plastered on his most engaging smile - the one that had got him out of more than a few tight corners - and reached out to firmly shake the man’s hand. “Oh, you wouldn’t want to play with me, Mr Mudd,” he replied smoothly as he let go of the sweaty paw as quickly as possible. He moved past the man out into the corridor then paused and turned back. “I cheat,” he added, his expression deadly serious. “It’s an addiction.” He winked at his now thoroughly confused-looking fellow passenger before turning to leave.

As he walked down the corridor he patted at the pockets of his own tuxedo, which was decidedly more flattering, and more sensibly black, than Mudd’s. He knew he’d had his cigarette case earlier but it didn’t seem to be in the pocket where he usually kept it or, for that matter, any of those where he didn’t. He frowned. Smoking was a vice virtually no one managed to keep up in the 23rd century, especially on the north American continent that he called home, where it was practically a capital offence in the eyes of most. That fact in itself was exactly the reason why Kirk applied himself so diligently to the habit. The affectation of the old-fashioned case was a fairly new thing, but he was rather fond of it - it was key to his current gentlemanly persona. Just as he’d decided he must have left it in his rooms and was about to turn back, he spotted a tall, dark-haired man walking towards him, holding what looked suspiciously like the cigarette case in his hand.

“Hey,” he said as the man approached, “is that my cigarette case?”

The stranger, who was dressed in a black jacket over a close-fitting tunic and pants that flattered his slim physique, stopped and looked curiously at him. It was then that Kirk noticed his pointed ears. Interesting. He’d never met a Vulcan before. He smiled at the man, who looked down at the silver case in his hand before looking back up to meet Kirk’s eyes.

“I have a cigarette case,” he said, tilting his head to one side, “if that is indeed what this item is. As to whether it is yours, I am not in possession of enough information to answer in either the affirmative or the negative.”

Kirk laughed at the response then folded his arms and leant nonchalantly against the wall of the corridor. If the guy wanted to play, then he was more than happy to oblige. “Well, there’s an inscription to me on the inside,” he replied, “if that helps you any.”

The Vulcan silently opened the case. “To Jim,” he read out, then looked up to study Kirk’s face. “You are James T. Kirk,” he said factually. “I had heard you were on board.” He paused. “I have read about you.” 

Kirk briefly wondered in what sort of parallel universe did Vulcans read gossip columns, but kept his mouth shut as he watched the other silently read the inscription, or maybe attempt to read it since it was in old-style French rather than Standard. “It says,” he finally said by way of explanation, “In memory of three unforgettable nights on board La Gabriella,” he paused for effect and raised his eyebrows suggestively. “It’s her yacht,” he added.

The Vulcan raised an eyebrow in return, in a way that Kirk noticed was really very cute, before handing over the case. “Indeed,” he said, and Kirk smiled as he looked him up and down. The Vulcan stared back at him, his face as perfectly solemn as it had been since the moment they’d met. “I found the item on the floor in the corridor on deck 12 and was on my way to hand it in to the purser,” he explained.

Kirk smiled at him, a line from a popular hit song of the moment running through his head as he regarded the saturnine features of the stranger. “Hey,” he said. “Did you write the song ‘I’ll Never Smile Again’?” He could have sworn the corners of the Vulcan’s mouth twitched slightly at that.

But, “I did not,” the Vulcan replied as he turned to leave, before pausing and looking back at Kirk. “But I am thinking of writing one called Moon Over La Gabriella,” he added enigmatically before walking off. Kirk stared after him. Ok, he hadn’t met a Vulcan before, but he was pretty sure they didn’t usually go in for witty comebacks.

~*~*~*~

Spock hurried down the corridor, moving as quickly as was seemly. He could hardly believe he had just engaged in so frivolous a conversation with a complete stranger. The words had seemed to spill out of him in the presence of the man. ‘I am thinking of writing one called Moon Over La Gabriella’. Had he really said that? His logic appeared to have deserted him the moment he met the piercing blue eyes of the handsome Human. He would need to meditate to regain his composure. It would not do for a Vulcan, even one who had decided to try to be more open to Human ways while studying on Earth, to behave in such a way. What would his father have said if he had overheard the conversation? Spock repressed a shudder at the thought.

“Hey, wait up,” came a voice from behind him, and Spock briefly closed his eyes in dismay. He considered pretending he hadn’t heard and continuing to walk, but no, he thought, that would not be any more logical than the rest of his actions over the past few minutes. He stopped and turned just as the Human caught up with him.

Kirk spread his hands wide. “Look you’ve gotta help me,” he said, his face a picture of studied anguish. “I’m in trouble. Serious trouble.”

Spock looked at him. “I would say that you most likely are,” he acknowledged carefully. From what he’d overheard from a fellow passenger’s radio link earlier that day, Kirk was engaged to be married - and not to anyone named Gabriella.

“I need to talk,” the Human was saying, smiling in a most appealing way. “And you have such an honest face.”

Spock knew he should politely take his leave but this intriguing Human seemed to have him in his thrall. “I fail to see how one can determine trustworthiness from a face alone,” he said, trying hard to keep any note of the desperation he felt to escape out of his voice. He wanted to get away but, perversely, he also found himself compelled to stay. He forced himself turn away from Kirk and carry on walking towards his cabin.

The Human seemed unwilling to give up, turning and walking alongside him, seemingly having no problem in keeping up with his long strides. “I need to talk to someone,” Kirk repeated. “I can trust you, can’t I?” he said and reached out to touch Spock’s arm. It was the touch that did it. Spock stopped walking and looked at the Human, whose eyes were wide and hopeful, and gave in. Kirk sensed the capitulation and grinned at him. “Your cabin or mine?” he said.

Spock stared at him for a moment more. “Mine,” he answered firmly. If he was going to waive his logic in favour of spending more time with this Human, he determined, then he could at least ensure he was in familiar surroundings. He gestured towards a door a few metres away. “It is here,” he added.

“What’s your name?” Kirk asked as soon as the door to the cabin slid shut behind them. He walked across the room and flopped uninvited into the nearest chair. He fixed his eyes on the other man and smiled appealingly.

“Spock,” the Vulcan answered and Kirk’s smile grew wider at the clipped response. 

“Pretty,” he said flirtatiously and Spock stared silently at him. No one had ever made the ridiculous suggestion that his name might be pretty before, and the look Kirk was giving him indicated that he was not referring only to the name. The Vulcan felt himself growing hot under the intensity of the gaze he was being subjected to and covered it by turning to remove his jacket before sitting in the only other armchair in the room. I must control my responses, he thought to himself. Kirk was a playboy, his trysts with males and females of all species were well known, even to a Vulcan who paid scant attention to such matters. Spock would not allow himself to fall for his charms he told himself sternly. 

“You know you’ve saved my life,” Kirk was saying as he made himself comfortable, leaning back in the chair and stretching his legs out in front of him, folding his arms across his chest as he regarded the Vulcan speculatively. “I was bored stupid,” he continued. “I hadn’t seen one attractive man or woman on this ship since we left. Isn’t that fucking awful? I was beginning to think this trip was going to be boring as hell.“ He upped the wattage on his already stunning smile as he leant closer to the Vulcan. “But then I saw you,” he added, “and I was saved!” he finished with a flourish.

Even a Vulcan, especially one who had spent some time among Humans, could recognise a blatantly obvious pick-up line when he heard one and Spock stiffened slightly. He looked haughtily at his companion. “I must inquire,” he said, mustering all his dignity, “if you get results with a ‘line’ such as that? It would seem most unlikely.”

Kirk laughed delightedly. “Touché,” he said, but he didn’t move any further away.

Spock decided that in this instance attack might well be the best form of defence. “Does your fiancée know of the woman with the yacht?” he inquired, deciding that a personal query was appropriate given that Kirk appeared to have seduction on his mind rather than talk of his troubles.

The Human chuckled. “Sure,” he answered easily, “she’s her best friend.” 

Spock stared at him. He was aware that many Humans did not hold the same regard for monogamous relationships that his own people did but he had not previously discussed the topic with a member of that race and was unsure what the correct response might be. He found he was curious, despite himself. He had been trying to further his understanding of Human nature during his time on Earth, cultivating relationships with those he had met during his first two years at StarFleet Academy. Perhaps here was an opportunity to further his studies. “That sounds an…intimate arrangement,” he chanced.

Kirk looked amused, then leant forward, a sudden passion in his eyes. “Don’t you think that life should be gay, and bright and lovely?” he asked, flinging his arms out expansively. “Like champagne?”

Spock blinked in confusion. He did not understand the relevance of the words. “Pardon me?” he said. 

Kirk was on a roll. He’d found in the past that this well-rehearsed little speech, plucked straight from an old romantic movie his grandmother was particularly fond of, worked wonders on a potential conquest, male or female. He’d never tried it out on a Vulcan, but there was a first time for everything. He reached over and touched his companion’s knee, and Spock found he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the sight of it. “Don’t you like champagne?” the Human asked, his manner somehow indolent and intense at the same time.

Spock thought seriously about the question, deciding to ignore the peculiar way the Human was acting. After all, he had found Humans were often prone to behave in such ways. He had only tasted one type of champagne on one occasion, a diplomatic function hosted by his father. “I like pink champagne,” he answered truthfully.

“That’s the kind I mean,” Kirk said decisively. “You know, this ship is going much too fast,” he added and Spock started slightly at the non-sequitur. “We ought to take advantage of every moment,” Kirk continued. He squeezed Spock’s knee, causing the Vulcan to jump slightly in surprise. “Is there any reason we can’t make the rest of this trip like pink champagne?”

Spock reached out to remove the hand from his leg. “A very good reason,” he replied sternly, not pretending to misunderstand what the Human was suggesting. “I am involved with someone else.”

There was a moment’s silence, as Kirk leant back in his chair. “And she…” he paused thoughtfully, “…or he…wouldn’t like it?” he asked, dropping the suave romantic hero posture as quickly as he’d adopted it, his gaze suddenly intensifying.

“She would not,” Spock answered shortly.

“Hmm,” Kirk said. “So why isn’t she here with you?” he asked. Then a thought occurred to him. “Oh, right, I get it,” he added with a grin. “I’ve read about this. Vulcans get hooked up when they’re kids, right? Some sort of arranged marriage?”

Spock looked at him curiously. He had not expected a stranger, a Human, especially one with a reputation such as this one had, to be familiar with Vulcan marriage customs. “That is generally the case,” he answered, shifting uncomfortably. He would rather the conversation did not focus on him. “It is the custom for Vulcans to be betrothed at the age of seven,” he answered simply, deciding to give as little information as possible. “The betrothal becomes a full marriage bond when the time is correct.”

Kirk frowned at him. He got the impression Spock wasn’t telling him the whole story, but something in the Vulcan’s closed countenance told him it might be best not to question him further right now. Instead he jumped to his feet and headed towards the door. Spock gazed after him, feeling irrationally bereft at the thought their time together might be at an end. But Kirk paused when he reached the door and turned to look at him. “This was nice anyway,” he said, looking suddenly rather discomfited. “And I guess there’s always shuffle ball, or tennis…or bridge. Or whatever it is people do to pass the time on this ship.”

Spock peered curiously at him. The Human seemed rather pinker than was generally the norm for his species. “Are you embarrassed?” he asked, genuinely interested in the answer.

Kirk ran his fingers through his dark blond hair and stared back at the Vulcan. “Of course I’m embarrassed!” he exclaimed, a hint of vulnerability showing through his bravado. “That was one of my best pick up lines and you just shot me down in flames.” He took a breath and gave an easy smile that seemed considerably less calculated than the seductive efforts of a moment ago. “But don’t worry about it,” he added, “I’ll just go take my bruised ego for a walk.” He took a step closer to the door and it slid open, allowing him to pass through. 

Outside the door Kirk mentally kicked himself. Why had he done that? He found this guy intriguing and genuinely wanted to spend more time with him but he’d probably just blown it by acting like some idiot lothario. He glanced over his shoulder at the closed door and hesitated. Then, jaw set determinedly, he turned around. 

The Vulcan was still staring at the door when it swished open again just seconds after it had closed behind Kirk. “Unless,” the Human said, smiling hopefully as he continued speaking as though he’d never left, “you want to have dinner with me?”

Spock considered the question for what was in all probability a shamefully short length of time before he answered. “That would be acceptable,” he said as he moved to follow Kirk out of the cabin. As they walked down the corridor in a suddenly slightly uncomfortable silence, he felt compelled to turn towards his companion. “I am sure,” he said seriously, “that your ‘pick up’ line would prove most efficacious were it to be tried on a Human.” Kirk burst out laughing and the hint of discomfort between them was instantly dispelled. “Oh, you’re something else,” he proclaimed delightedly and slung his arm around the unsuspecting Vulcan’s shoulders, pulling him into a quick hug before immediately releasing him. “You really are,” he reaffirmed, leaving Spock feeling puzzled, but with a strange warm feeling inside.

~*~*~*~

The main dining room on the Flying Dolphin was decorated in a style that was almost obscene in its opulence. Plush maroon carpet thick enough to muffle even the heaviest footstep covered the floor on which rested heavy tables made from real wood. The tables were draped in starched white tablecloths, vases filled with sweet-smelling, delicately-hued blooms placed squarely in the centre of each. The cream walls were hung with old-fashioned paintings of questionable taste but that undoubtedly came with a steep price tag attached. From the ceiling hung ornate chandeliers, their complex crystal prisms casting twinkling light across the satisfied faces of the rich clientele as they tucked into the finest cuisine the worlds of the Federation had to offer. 

Spock found himself uncomfortably aware of several sets of eyes following their progress as he and Kirk walked across the room, feet sinking into the deep pile of the carpet. As the son of the Vulcan ambassador to Earth Spock was no stranger to luxurious surroundings. His parents had often taken him with them as they travelled with the diplomatic service and inevitably the visitors would often be offered the very best a world had to offer. But his surroundings were not important to Spock. He had chosen to travel on the Flying Dolphin not because of its luxury but because it was convenient. He had paid little attention to its décor or to his fellow passengers but now he found he was discomfited by the close attention he and Kirk were receiving. He wondered at how little these people must have to occupy their time if they found it necessary to unduly concern themselves with the comings and goings of those they did not even know except by reputation.

He knew his companion had some notoriety, but he was unsure what Kirk had done to merit such close attention. His Vulcan hearing picked up the murmurings of people wondering who the galactic playboy’s dining companion was, which made him feel even less at ease. Kirk didn’t seem at all bothered by the attention, quite the contrary. The Human flashed his grin at those who caught his eye as he strode confidently across the room, Spock following in his wake.

“Will this table suit you, sir?” the waiter asked, bowing obsequiously as he indicated a booth at the side of the room. 

Kirk glanced at Spock. “Yeah?” he asked, and the Vulcan nodded his assent. This table would suit as well as any others and its position would at least ensure some small privacy from the eyes of their fellow diners. Kirk motioned to Spock to sit first and the Vulcan did so. Kirk, rather than taking the opposite side of the table, as Spock had expected, instead slipped in beside him. He moved close, so close their thighs were almost touching, and Spock found himself catching his breath at the nearness of him.

“You are returning to Earth to be married?” he asked, curious to know more about this man but also hoping to steer the conversation away from himself.

“Yeah,” Kirk answered, “the wedding’s in a few months’ time. My stepdad thinks it’ll help me settle down.” He grimaced, “not to mention that she’s the daughter of his business partner. I think he’s got this idea that the next generation could build this ginormous business empire.”

Spock thought back to the little he had read about Kirk in the news wires. “But does your stepfather not already run a most successful business empire?” he asked.

Kirk snorted. “Yeah, that’s the stupid thing. He’s so wealthy he couldn’t ever begin to spend it all, but it’s never enough for him.”

“And for you?” Spock asked, prompting a sharp look from his companion. Kirk stared at him for a moment then held up his hands and laughed. “Ok,” he said, “you got me!” He put his elbow on the table and rested the side of his head in his hands, gazing up at the Vulcan at an angle. “Sure,” he said, “I help him spend it, but now it’s payback time and the old man wants me to get married, have some kids to carry on the family line and learn all about the business.” He fiddled with the napkin on the table as he spoke.

“You do not wish this?” Spock asked.

Kirk shrugged. “I agreed to it,” he said, but didn’t expand any further. He sat up straight. “Anyway,” he continued, “enough about me. Let’s talk about you.”

Spock’s eyes flicked downwards. “I would prefer if we did not,” he answered, then looked up to regard the Human sitting next to him. “Perhaps we could ‘talk about me’ tomorrow?” he offered, then immediately regretted it as he realised he had just inadvertently revealed his desire to spend more time with this man.

Kirk smiled knowingly at him but didn’t persist. “Ok,” he said, “what do you want to know?”

~*~*~*~

Kirk lay back on his bunk and frowned up at the ceiling. He wasn’t sure what had happened. He’d been enjoying Spock’s company and, although he found the Vulcan powerfully attractive, he’d wanted to stick around even if there wasn’t anything more than talking on the cards. It was an unusual feeling for him. On the rare occasions when his charm failed to make an impression on the person on whom he’d set his sights, he’d generally just give it up as a bad idea and move on. With Spock it was pretty hard to tell whether he was interested or not but instead of being put off he’d found it inexplicably refreshing.

Few people tended to see more in him than a pretty face and a deep wallet and he was quite happy to leave it that way. He went into his frequent flings with his eyes open. His playboy status attracted mainly one of two types - the ones who were out for a bit of fun and wanted someone for whom credits weren’t an issue, and the ones who had their eye on a meal ticket. He was realistic about it. He knew most of them were interested in his reputation and his outward appearance rather than the person he was inside. It didn’t bother him, in fact he embraced it. He wanted sex and he wanted fun, what he didn’t need was anyone poking around in his head, trying get close. The few times people had tried to get past outward appearances and find out what was underneath, he’d quickly moved on.

He sighed as he turned on his side. Taking to Spock tonight had been a relief and he wasn’t sure why. For the first time in a long while, he’d felt like he could just be himself and he hadn’t felt threatened or uncomfortable. Maybe it was because the Vulcan was a good listener. He’d had found himself opening up in a way he rarely did, especially with someone he’d only just met. Spock had asked thoughtful questions about his life. The Vulcan’s interest in him seemed genuine but it hadn’t felt like he was prying. Perhaps, Kirk thought, the fact that Spock was Vulcan was what had made talking to him so easy. He didn’t know a lot about the species but he knew enough to realise that Spock wouldn’t be spending time with him because of his reputation or his wealth or his charm, maybe even in spite of those things. That realisation had warmed him more than he’d thought it would, but made it harder to figure out why the Vulcan had run out on him as abruptly as he had.

He shifted impatiently onto his back again, trying to still his thoughts so he could get to sleep. He could go and find Spock tomorrow. 

 

~*~*~*~

Spock walked along a corridor of the ship thinking about the conversation he and Kirk had shared the previous evening. He had expected to see Kirk at breakfast and found he felt a mild sense of disappointment that he hadn’t appeared. The Human had been surprisingly open at dinner, especially considering they had only met that evening. He had spoken of his childhood, his largely absent StarFleet mother and the stepfather he didn’t get on with. Spock hadn’t until the moment Kirk spoke of it connected the young man with the legendary Captain George Kirk of the USS Kelvin, whose heroics on the day of his son’s birth had saved 800 lives. Kirk had largely glossed over that incident in a way Spock found curious. The Human had mentioned it in passing, as if it was of little consequence, but surely losing a parent so young, especially in such circumstances must have had a considerable impact on his life. 

Kirk’s mother had returned to Earth following her husband’s death in service, taking Jim and his older brother, Sam, back to her hometown in Iowa, where she had met and married his stepfather. The hard lines that marred Kirk’s handsome face when he spoke of his stepfather hinted that the relationship was even more strained than the Human admitted. His mother’s second marriage was an unhappy one, he said, so much so that she had gone back into space again, leaving her sons in the care of her husband. 

“He’s a pig,” Kirk had snorted after a couple of beers, “but he’s a rich pig.”

Spock had raised his eyebrow and found himself unaccountably gratified when Kirk noted the gesture and flashed him an appreciative grin. “Forgive me,” he said, thinking of Kirk’s description of his childhood home, “but your earlier words did not indicate your family had any great wealth.”

“Nah,” the Human replied, “we didn’t, but the old man got in on a good deal for once in his life and the thing just took off. All of a sudden he was this big shot businessman and, after Sam left, I was the nearest thing he had to a successor, despite the fact that he hates my guts.”

Spock was taken aback by that. He had had his disagreements with his own father but it would surely be unnatural for a parent to hate their child. “I am sure that is not the case,” he offered.

Kirk had laughed a little bitterly at that. “Oh, it is,” he said.

“If so, then why would he wish you to follow him into his business?” he asked, curious at this apparently inconsistent behaviour on the part of Kirk’s parent figure.

Kirk sighed and leant forward over the table, resting his chin in his hands. “I think it’s a control thing,” he said, pain flickering momentarily across his eyes before he abruptly straightened up in his seat. “Anyway,” he said. “I don’t know how to do anything else, so I might as well take the money he gives me and do what he asks, right?” As Spock’s other eyebrow rose to match the first, Kirk’s smile faltered just a little. “Guess it seems weird to you, huh?” Spock said nothing, not sure how to answer, and after a pause Kirk continued. “You see, my friend,” he said, “I can’t live up to the heroic George, and my mom doesn’t care. At least the old man will bankroll me if I do the odd bit of charming on his behalf, and then there’s Janice…” he broke off for a moment and looked a little wistful. “Well, Janice loves me,” he added, then smiled slightly ruefully. “In her own way.”

Spock didn’t know what made him utter the words that left his lips as he met the brilliant blue eyes with their strangely haunted look. “But do you love her?” he almost whispered. Shocked at his own presumption and the look of surprise on the Human’s face at the question, he then hurriedly stood and excused himself without waiting for an answer. 

He shook his head slightly as he forced himself back to the present, refusing to dwell on how much he wished he knew the answer to that final question. It wouldn’t do to spend his days on board the ship daydreaming about a Human he would probably never see again once they had reached Earth. There were far more productive ways in which he could spend his time. He had completed all the assignments he had been given during his vacation time, but he always had extra projects of his own on which he was working. These would be the most productive way to occupy the time before he was due to report back to the Academy. First though, he planned to complete the his daily exercise programme. StarFleet’s requirements for physical fitness were rigorous, a Vulcan’s even more so, and the liner was more than adequately equipped with facilities of which he could take advantage. He had briefly considered working out in the gym but had decided he would head for the ship’s pool instead. Having been raised on a planet that was mainly desert, he had not learnt to swim as a child and on reaching Earth to continue his studies, he had found himself strangely reluctant to enter the water. His mother had laughed when he had questioned her over the comm link on whether this should be taken as a natural Vulcan trait.

“Well, I suppose you could see it that way,” she’d said, her tinkling laugh echoing down the subspace vid link. “Your father was certainly reluctant the first time I made him take me to the ocean, but once I got him in his bathing costume and dragged him in, he seemed to see the logic in doing what I wanted.” She’d got a faraway look in her eyes at that, as if she were fondly remembering some sort of water-based assignation, and Spock had hastily changed the subject. He absolutely did not want to hear any more details. His mother was the one person in the universe capable of prompting his father into acts that, if not ever exactly illogical, were certainly ones that often required a stretch in the older Vulcan’s logic to explain to his son. Often as a child, Spock had queried a certain response of his father to his mother only to be met with the raised eyebrow gesture that always made Amanda smile when he found himself involuntarily mimicking it, and a stern, “your mother is Human,” as if that alone should be explanation enough.

He reached the poolside changing area and slipped into a private cubicle to change. Modesty was not something that Vulcans worried about - the body was simply the body - but Spock had grown up the only half Vulcan half Human child on his homeworld. The other boys had taunted him whenever they had the chance and changing for physical exercise had always been such an opportunity. They had scrutinised him as he had removed his clothing, pointing out the ways in which they considered his form to be more Human than Vulcan. The experience had left him less than willing to remove his clothing in a communal changing area. He preferred to do so away from the critical gaze of others who might find him lacking in some way. He changed into a simple black bathing costume and made his way to the poolside.

Despite his initial reluctance to enter the water when he had decided to teach himself to swim in the Academy pool, once he was in he had found it quite relaxing. He enjoyed the feel of it against his skin and as soon as he had mastered the various different strokes he could use to propel his body through the water, he discovered the effects were surprisingly beneficial. Swimming produced not only a satisfying ache in muscles that were challenged by a form of exercise for which they had not been designed but also served to calm his mind on occasions when he felt his control challenged by the often puzzling situations he encountered at the Academy. 

There were no other bathers. The hour was early and the liner had several pools to serve its clientele, ensuring that none got too crowded. He dived straight in and powered his way to the opposite end, expertly turning to make his way back again. He completed 40 lengths before stopping and resting his arms on the edge of the pool for a moment. He kicked off again and allowed himself to float for a while, staring up at the high ceiling, which had been designed to mimic the conditions of a bright, sunny day on Earth. He knew it was a fabricated effect, but the feeling of the sun on his face was still a pleasant one. He allowed himself to remain floating on his back for another 2.4 minutes before flipping over and diving down under the water in the deepest part of the pool. All of a sudden he found himself tangled up in a flurry of flailing limbs, the peace of a moment before utterly shattered. His sharp Vulcan ears were nowhere near as proficient underwater as they were in the harsh desert terrain that their delicate shape had evolved to operate in, but he still picked up a few muffled squawks before his head broke the surface of the water. He found himself face to face with an indignant looking James Kirk.

“What were you doing hiding in there?” the Human demanded and Spock’s eyes widened at the presumption of the man. After all, he had simply been completing his exercise requirements when he had been unceremoniously jumped upon.

“I was not hiding,” he said, a hint of defensiveness creeping into his voice. “I was merely swimming, when you landed on me.”

“Well, if you will go lurking around at the bottom of pools like some sort of Vulcan submersible..” the Human retorted. 

“Vulcans do not ‘lurk’,” Spock automatically countered, “and there is no such thing as a Vulcan submersible, since my homeworld has no surface water.”

Kirk laughed delightedly. “Well, you got me there,” he answered. “Anyway,” he continued, bobbing in the water next to the Vulcan, “we’re stopping off at the colony today, aren’t we?”

Spock nodded. The stop off at New Virginia, one of the Federation’s many colonies, was scheduled to last less than one Earth-day before the ship continued on its path towards its final destination. Passengers were permitted to disembark but Spock had not planned to do so, deciding instead to remain onboard the Dolphin to continue work on one of his science projects.

“I’m going planetside to visit my grandma,” Kirk was saying. “How about you come with me?”

Spock stared at him, nonplussed and slightly suspicious at the unexpected invitation. Kirk did not seem like the type of young man who would choose to spend his free time visiting an elderly relative when there were surely many other pursuits that could be followed on a Human-colonised planet. “Your grandmother?” he questioned, and some of his doubt must have shown in his voice, as the words prompted another chuckle from the Human.

“Yes,” Kirk said decisively. “My grandmother. My real dad’s mom. She was one of the first wave of colonists to settle there. I haven’t seen her in a while.” He grinned at the Vulcan’s sceptical expression. “What?” he added. “Don’t you believe me?”

Spock drew his dignity together as much as was possible when he was treading water in uncomfortably close proximity to a nearly naked, and most attractive, man. “I said no such thing,” he replied. 

“But you don’t, do you?!” Kirk answered. “Ok, now you have to come with me, just so I can prove it to you.”

The Vulcan shook his head slightly. “That will not be necessary,” he said. “I had no intention of accusing you of being less than truthful.”

Kirk, there was no other word for it, pouted, and Spock felt one of the quick stabs of amazement that he’d been feeling ever since he first encountered this man. It seemed his moods were as mercurial as the weather on the planet from which he hailed - warm and sunny in one moment, turning to deep and troubled, then to defensive, then just as quickly to his current playful boyishness. 

“Please,” the Human said beguilingly. “Come with me. I’d really love it if you did.”

Spock, despite his best efforts, found his determination to resist spending any more time in Kirk’s company dissolving at the genuine plea in those final words. “Very well,” he sighed. “I will accompany you.”

Kirk broke into a joyful smile. “Awesome!” he pronounced, then suddenly ducked under the water, grabbing Spock’s legs at the knees and pulling them from beneath him. The Vulcan found himself unceremoniously submerged, once again entangled in smooth, bare limbs. As they broke the surface, Spock touched the fingers of one hand to his lips, wondering if he’d imagined the slightest touch of cooler than Vulcan lips against his own while they were under the water. He gazed questioningly at Kirk and the Human grinned widely through the droplets of water that ran down his face. “Sorry,” he said, the expression on his face at odds with the words. “I couldn’t resist just this once.” He reached out to gently touch Spock’s bare arm. “Friends, yeah?” he asked and the Vulcan nodded wordlessly in response. 

 

~*~*~*~

The ship docked at New Virginia at 10.00hrs. Spock waited in the passenger transporter area, wondering, not for the first time, what he was doing there and if it was really a good idea. Kirk was late and the Vulcan found he was not surprised. For some reason he had not imagined that punctuality would be one of his new acquaintance’s attributes and it seemed he was correct in his assumption. What was surprising to him, however, was that, despite his presumption that Kirk would in all probability be late, the fact of his tardiness had the effect of producing a nervous tension that was not typical for even a half-Vulcan. Spock resisted the urge to analyse why he should have such a reaction. He found he did not really care to look too closely into his responses at this time. Nevertheless, he could not fail to note the relief he felt as Kirk barrelled through the doorway at a rather unseemly speed. 

“Sorry,” the Human said, slightly out of breath as he drew to a halt just inches away from Spock. “Got caught up talking to that Mudd character.” He frowned slightly. “Have you met him?” he asked. “Big fat guy with the most ridiculous taste in tuxedos.” When Spock shook his head, Kirk continued. “It’s really odd,” he said. “The guy is like, way unattractive, but he’s got these women with him that he says are his wife and his wife’s sisters and they are like the hottest women you’ve ever seen and they all look at him like he’s God’s gift.” He shook his head, a momentary far off look in his eyes. “Weird,” he said, then grinned as he focussed on Spock once again. “Anyway,” he continued, “you ready?” Spock raised his eyebrows at the pointlessness of the question considering he was the one who had been awaiting Kirk’s arrival for the past 8.27 minutes, and the Human laughed. Spock noted that the sound of his laughter was one that he had already begun to eagerly anticipate and quickly pushed the realisation to one side.

“I am ready,” was all he said.

They beamed down to a passenger terminal on the southern coastline of New Virginia’s second smallest continent, and emerged into a coastal town of a quaint old-fashioned beauty that Spock found reminiscent of a section of the Italian coast he had once visited for a scientific conference with several of his Academy classmates. “Beautiful, isn’t it?” Kirk said, stretching his arms out and turning his face upwards, like a cat basking in the sunlight. “Would you believe they named it Stokestown, of all the ugly things to call a place like this? After some bigwig named Stoke who ran the show when the colonists first got here.”

Spock looked around at his surroundings. The buildings were sandstone constructs that blended into the landscape, complementing rather than clashing with sandy coloured hills that rose in the distance. A boardwalk jutted out into the blue-green water on which the sunlight twinkled and glinted around old-fashioned fishing boarts, making him raise a hand to partially shield his eyes from the brightness. The sky was a deep azure that both echoed the colour of that on Earth while highlighting this world’s differences. The people going about their daily tasks looked uniformly content with life and the Vulcan found some of that contentedness washing over him as he relaxed in a temperature he found far more to his liking than that most Humans tended to enjoy. It was pleasurable not to feel the persistent chill that was his constant companion in an Earth-normal environment.

“Come on then,” Kirk said, linking his arm with Spock’s. “Let’s go see grandma.” Spock glanced at the arm hooked around his own. This really was most unorthodox. Kirk caught the glance and gave his arm a little shake. “Hey,” he said. “Friends, right?” Spock forced himself to relax into the touch, being careful to keep his mental shields up. He was not used to being in such close proximity with someone he was not well-acquainted with, and he was certainly not prepared to feel the onslaught of a Human’s always jumbled thoughts. Nevertheless, the limited contact was not an unpleasant experience and he decided it would be acceptable to permit it. Kirk smiled at him and pulled him off towards a slightly inclining path leading towards the hills, which seemed to be standing guard over the picturesque little town.

The path meandered through the countryside, passing only an occasional house, each one as aesthetically pleasing to Spock as the last. He found himself wondering at his response to the architecture of this world, which was so unlike that which he had grown up with. After they had walked in silence for a while Kirk gave another little pull on the arm linked with his own. “Penny for them,” the Human said, and Spock abruptly stopped walking, turning his head to frown at his companion.

“Pardon me?” he said. He understood the idiom perfectly - it was one his sometimes despairing mother had often directed at him while trying to engage her reserved son in conversation. But, for some reason that escaped him at that moment, he did not wish Kirk to know he understood. He was gratified when his show of incomprehension provoked one of the laughs he had come to look forward to hearing. ‘Was that his reason for feigning ignorance?’ he briefly thought, a notion he dismissed as quickly as it had occurred to him.

“Your thoughts, Spock,” Kirk was saying with exaggerated patience, “the saying is ‘a penny for your thoughts’,”

“You wish to make payment for my thoughts?” the Vulcan queried, deciding that as the pretence of ignorance he had started seemed to amuse, he would continue with it. “In an old Earth currency denomination of negligible value?”

Kirk’s chuckle became a full-scale belly laugh as he pulled Spock’s body closer to his own, causing their hips to jostle together in a way that sent an unbidden shiver through the Vulcan‘s body. “You’re right,” Kirk eventually managed to get out through his laughter, “they are worth way more than that. Ok, you got it - a million credits for your thoughts.”

“I doubt even you can afford such a payment,” Spock gently admonished, “or that it would be worth the expense.” At Kirk’s roll of the eyes, he continued. “I was thinking of my home,” he allowed, “and how different it is to this world.”

The Human looked at him with interest. “Tell me about where you come from,” he said, “I’d like to know about where you grew up.”

Spock found some of his initial reticence to speak of himself had diminished during the course of the time he had spent in Kirk’s company. He willingly spent the rest of their walk talking of his homeworld, although he took care not to offer a surfeit of personal detail. He told Kirk something of his childhood, but did not offer details of the abuse he had suffered at the hands of classmates for whom IDIC seemed to be a concept that bore little relation to the reality of accepting a half-Human as a friend. Instead he spoke of his parents and of his pet sehlat, I-Chaya, who proved a constant companion when no others would deign to spend time in his company. Although he spoke factually, without letting any emotion colour his words, Kirk’s arm tightened on his when he spoke of I-Chaya’s death. 

“You must have been so lonely,” the Human said, the compassion clear in his voice, even though the Vulcan had not spoken of the isolation he often felt as a child. Spock felt his cheeks stain with green and he looked away. He had not thought his shameful emotion would have been so apparent to someone he had known for so short a time. “Hey, it’s nothing to be embarrassed about,” Kirk added, reaching over to gently grasp Spock’s chin so that the Vulcan was obliged to turn his head and meet his eyes. “We all get lonely sometimes,” Kirk added quietly, and Spock wondered at the understanding in the voice of someone who, if the gossip channels were to be believed, spent his time surrounded by a coterie of adoring and willing admirers, both male and female. He pulled away from the additional contact, but gently so the Human would not see it as a slight.

“So,” Kirk said more cheerily, taking the hint and breaking the slightly sombre turn of the conversation. “Your mom’s Human then?” picking up on what Spock had mentioned of Amanda.

“Yes,” Spock agreed.

“Hmm, that does explain a fair bit,” Kirk said and Spock turned to give him a sharp look.

“A ‘fair bit’ of what?” he said, trying not to sound defensive.”

“Hey,” Kirk responded, “nothing bad. I’ve just heard that Vulcans can be a bit standoffish, but you’re not like that at all.”

Spock pondered the words. In fact he had often been accused of being just that by his Human classmates at the Academy - sometimes to his face, but more often in the whispers they didn’t realise his sharper-than-human hearing would be able to detect. He was an adult now, not the angry child he had once been, but sometimes he still wanted to lash out irrationally at those who kept him apart because he was not the same as them. He had hoped StarFleet would be different and, mostly, it had been. He was far from the only non-Human at the Academy and he felt at home there, had even made some friends, but sometimes his hybrid nature still left him feeling more apart than he suspected he would were he truly one thing or the other. He glanced at Kirk who was now looking at him with concern in his blue eyes. “I am gratified you do not consider me so,” he offered, and was relieved to see the Human relax again.

They turned a corner in the path and a group of pretty cottages came into view, a little building that looked like a place of worship standing just to one side. “See,” Kirk said, gesturing towards one of the cottages, “grandma’s house. Just like I told you!”

Spock nodded in assent. “Indeed,” he said, “it was uncharitable of me to doubt you, although you must understand my initial misgivings.”

Kirk gave him a look from beneath lowered eyebrows. “Huh!” was all he offered as he broke into a half-run towards the house, disengaging his arm and grabbing Spock’s hand as he pulled the Vulcan along behind him. “Emmie,” he shouted as he approached the little pink cottage with rose-like blooms growing around the wide open door. “Emmie, are you in there?”

An elderly woman appeared in the doorway, and Kirk released Spock’s hand as he sped up. He drew to a halt in front of the woman, a grin all over his face at her look of surprise. She gaped at him for a moment then reached out and pulled him to her, grasping him close as she clutched at his back as if trying to prove to herself that he really was there. They clung to each other for a moment before she pulled back and moved her hands to grip his upper arms. “Jimmy?” she said in wonderment. “I can’t believe it’s really you! What are you doing here?” Without waiting for a reply she pulled him back into her arms again, kissing the side of his head as he bent into her embrace for a moment more before laughingly untangling himself. 

“Just thought I’d stop by,” he said with a cheeky grin, and his grandmother swiped affectionately at his arm. Kirk turned to look at Spock, who had remained standing a polite distance away as the two exchanged greetings. “Spock, come over here and meet Emmie,” he called.

Spock moved forward and the woman turned her gaze on him. He could see from where Kirk had inherited the vivid blue eyes that were incapable of hiding how he was feeling from the world. The warmth and intelligence shone from his grandmother’s eyes as they did from Kirk’s own. “I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Mrs. Kirk,” Spock said formally, then found himself rather taken aback when the woman stepped forward and pulled him into a bear hug. He couldn’t help but stiffen slightly at the unexpected contact and she quickly released him.

“I’m sorry,” she said, “I know Vulcans don’t like to be touched, but I’m just so pleased to see Jimmy, and any friend of his is always welcome here. Please,” she added, “call me Emmie.” She turned around to face her grandson again, pulling him into yet another hug. Kirk caught Spock’s eye from over her shoulder.

‘Sorry,’ he mouthed and Spock gave a brief nod of acknowledgement to let him know he was not offended by his relative’s actions. In truth her reaction was not unlike his own mother’s when she had not seen him for a while. However much he insisted that Vulcans did not hug, Amanda stuck equally as stubbornly to her assertion that mothers did. He had long since accepted that it was pointless to try to disabuse her of that particular notion.

Kirk’s grandmother ushered them into her cottage, which was deceptively spacious on the inside. The young man began moving around the room, reaching out to touch bits of furniture and items on various shelves, reacquainting himself with a place of which he was obviously fond. Spock looked around and was surprised to note that what appeared from the outside to be a modest, rather quaint country cottage was, although simply decorated, adorned with tasteful works of art that, if not immediately obvious as items of great value, had certainly been collected by someone with an expert’s eye for talent. There was a piano in one corner and what looked like a type of mandolin leaning against the wall nearby. In another corner was a small table on which rested a nearly completed jigsaw puzzle.

He turned to see the elderly woman regarding him with some amusement, and realised he had perhaps not hidden his surprise as well as he should have. She gave him a knowing yet understanding smile and moved to stand beside him, following his gaze to a painting that had caught his eye more than all of the others. He was about to inquire as to its provenance when there was a clattering at the door. All three of them looked over to see a man perhaps a few years older than Kirk standing in the doorway, a wide grin plastered all over his face.

“Jim!” he exclaimed. “What the devil brings you here?!” Kirk moved across the room, reaching out to grasp the newcomer’s hand in one of his own while using the other to thump him enthusiastically on the arm.

“Scotty!” he said, his smile just as broad. “How’ve you been, man?”

“Aye, can’t complain,” the man referred to as Scotty responded, his accent making it unclear whether it was his true appellation or one of the nicknames Spock had noticed Humans were inexplicably fond of bestowing, “and what about yerself? Gettin’ married if I hear rightly?” he added, raising his eyebrows in a manner that hinted at disapproval.

Kirk looked slightly abashed. “Yeah,” he admitted then slid a quick look at Spock before abruptly changing the subject. “So how’s the Enterprise? Still keeping you busy?”

Scotty’s eyes got a look of faraway fondness. “Aye, that she is, laddie, that she is, but I wouldnae have it any other way.”

Kirk slung his arm around Scotty’s shoulder and turned to speak to Spock and his grandmother. “Scotty,” he said, indicating the Vulcan, “this is my friend, Spock. Spock this is Scotty.” 

“Pleased to meet ye,” the Scot said, and Spock nodded his own greeting. He tilted his head to one side, puzzled by the conversation between the two men. “The Enterprise?” he questioned, looking from the two smiling friends back to Mrs. Kirk - he couldn’t think of her as Emmie despite her request he call her by her christian name. She rolled her eyes in a longsuffering way.

“Montgomery’s pride and joy,” she said, apparently referring to the man introduced as Scotty, then shrugged. “Boys and their toys,” she added, aiming a wink at the still uncomprehending Vulcan before she turned back towards her grandson and his friend.

The Scotsman looked hugely affronted. “Emmie,” he said firmly, the tone giving Spock the impression the conversation he might be about to embark on a conversation the two had had many times before; the wide, affectionate grin on Kirk’s face as his gaze flicked from one to the other reinforcing this supposition. “The Enterprise isnae a toy,” Scotty continued. “She’s a fine feat of engineering the like of which StarFleet would be proud to call their own if they ever got their grubby little mitts on her!”

“You’d better watch your mouth, Scotty,” Kirk told him, flashing a grin with not a small hint of pride in the Vulcan’s direction. “Spock’s at StarFleet Academy.” 

“Ah, no offence intended,” the Scot offered, “I’m StarFleet myself, just not rightly pleased with them at the moment.”

At Spock’s curious look, Kirk laughed. “A little accident with Admiral Archer’s prize Beagle I heard, Mr. Scott?”

“Aye,” Scotty admitted ruefully, “though why they don’t trust me when I say the mutt’ll reappear eventually, I cannae say. Those admirals wannae get a grippa themselves.”

Spock stared at the man. However unlikely it seemed in such a place, this appeared to be the engineer who had been the subject of much discussion among cadets last year following his experiments with transwarp beaming, which had resulted in the unfortunate incident with Admiral Archer’s canine. The Vulcan had studied the Scot’s research and found his ideas fascinating and well-conceived, although his methods of experimentation could be described as ill-advised at best, downright reckless at worst.

“Oh, they’ll get over it,” Kirk reassured his friend. “It’s not as if they’re going to let the best engineer in StarFleet slip through their fingers, is it?”

The Scot looked glum for a moment then brightened. “Aye,” he said, “and if they don’t let me back after whatever punishment they’ve got in store fer me, then I’ve always got my bairn.”

“Sure thing,” Kirk said.

“Bairn?” Spock questioned, still confused as to exactly what they were referring to.

“The Enterprise,” Scott answered, looking at him as if he couldn’t even understand why he was asking.

“The starship?” Spock questioned.

Kirk laughed. “No,” he answered. “The Enterprise is Scotty’s boat. Keeps him busy when the powers that be won’t let him loose on a Starship.”

“I named her after the best ship in the ‘Fleet,” the Scot said proudly, “the one I’m going to serve on one day.”

Mrs Kirk smiled fondly as she turned towards Spock. “When Jimmy used to visit in the school holidays, he and Montgomery used to spend hours out on the water, playing captain and engineer,” she told him.

Kirk blushed again. “Oh Emmie, that was years ago,” he said.

“That’s as may be,” the Soctsman said, “but I still think yer wasting away your life when you could be up there in the stars jus’ like you always wanted,” he said. Spock looked curiously at Kirk. In the time they had spent together the Human had never expressed any wish to join StarFleet, had rather seemed bitter towards the institution that had resulted in the loss of his father and the absence of his mother.

Now the Human just shrugged. “It was a long time ago, Scotty. I was just a little kid,” he said, “things change. People move on.”

Emmie flashed her grandson a look Spock couldn’t quite interpret, but that seemed rather sad. “Montgomery,” she said. “Why don’t you take Jimmy to have a quick look over the Enterprise?”

Kirk stuck his bottom lip out in a close approximation of a sulking child. “I just got here, and you’re trying to get rid of me already?” he said with mock churlishness, prompting his grandmother to laugh.

“You can stay a while, can’t you?” she asked.

Kirk nodded. “We’ve got a few hours,” he confirmed.

“Well, I’m sure your friend here won’t mind keeping me company for few minutes,” his grandmother said, smiling at Spock, who graciously inclined his head, “and we can have a nice little chat while you run down to the harbour.”

“Well, if you’re sure?” Kirk said uncertainly, looking from his grandmother to Spock and back again.

“Oh, go on,” the old woman said as she waggled a finger at him, “just don’t get into any trouble.”

Kirk grinned as he turned to Scotty. “All right then,” he said, “let’s go take a look at the old garbage scow…” He turned and ran full pelt out the door, with one very incensed-looking Scotsman hot on his heels.

“Garbage scow? I’ll give you garbage scow…” came the echoing words above Kirk’s laughter as the two disappeared down the path.

Spock turned towards Mrs. Kirk, his eyebrow raised, and she laughed at the expression and linked her arm through his in much the same way as her grandson had done. Spock found he didn’t mind as much as he would have thought he would. She steered him around to look towards the painting that had been capturing his attention before the Scotsman had arrived at the door. “What do you think?” she asked.

Spock leant forward slightly to take a closer look and Mrs. Kirk released his arm. “Go ahead,” she gestured, and Spock moved closer. The painting was a view of the harbour near the passenger transport station where he and Kirk had materialised. The brush strokes were bold and confident and the artist had managed to perfectly capture the peaceful ambiance of the place while still incorporating movement into the figures painted going about their everyday business in the town. There was a signature in the bottom right-hand corner and Spock took in a sharp breath as he read the initials J.T.K. He turned to look at the elderly woman who smiled back at him and nodded.

“Jim painted this?” he asked, already sure of the answer as his gaze drifted back to the picture. He could almost see Kirk in the strokes of the painting, his charm and the confident swagger that hid the sensitivity beneath. Spock frowned slightly as he regarded it with a critical eye. The work was undoubtedly promising, but it lacked the depth of feeling he would have expected from its creator, almost as though he had held back from expressing more than lightness in its tone. Nevertheless, there was something about it that made him want to keep on looking.

“It’s interesting, isn’t it?” his companion said, and Spock turned to see her regarding him with a thoughtful expression.

“Indeed,” Spock replied, his eyes still locked on the artwork. “Does he still paint?” he asked.

The old woman sighed. “No,” she said. “He’s always been the same, so many passions and so talented but he never focuses on one thing. He has the potential to excel in everything he tries, but he’s his own worst enemy.” Spock looked questioningly at her and she moved to sit in an armchair set in front of a little cloth covered table, gesturing to her guest to sit opposite. Spock moved to sit in the chair and waited for her to expand on her previous statement. “The artist in him creates,” she continued, “but then the critic in him destroys the work.” She leant forward over the table, her posture as intense as the sharp gaze that belied her advanced age. “Jimmy could do great things, Mr. Spock,” she said seriously. “I may be biased but he really believe he could achieve so much if he gave himself the chance.”

Spock considered her words. “And why does he not?” he asked slowly.

Mrs. Kirk sighed again as she settled back in her chair, showing her age in a way she hadn’t since their arrival, grimacing slightly as her elderly body settled into the softness of the seat. She smiled across the table at the Vulcan. The intensity of a moment before was gone as if it had never been there and she was once again a genial grandmotherly figure.“I’ve said too much already,” she answered. “I’m an old lady and I worry about my grandson. Don’t pay too much attention to me.” She moved her hand to gesture towards a jug and some glasses on the table. “Pour me a glass of water would you, dear?”

Spock reached out to pick up the jug and silently poured a glass for each of them. He very much wanted to continue the conversation about Kirk but didn’t want to overstep his welcome. After all Emmie Kirk had only just met him and might not be willing to talk any further about a member of her family. “Have you lived here long?” he asked instead, a question he had found was a good neutral option when attempting what his mother referred to as ‘small talk’. It was a conversational style at which he did not generally excel, but he did not wish to make an unfavourable impression on this woman, who had not only been so welcoming but was obviously very important to his new Human friend.

“Oh, since long before you were a twinkle in your daddy’s eye,” she answered. Spock felt the corner of his mouth twitch involuntarily at her turn of phrase. He could not imagine his father’s eyes ever daring to let their owner down so badly as to twinkle, much less that he himself should be the cause of such a phenomenon. “So, tell me,” she said, “how do you know my grandson?”

“We met two days ago aboard the Flying Dolphin,” Spock informed her. 

Her eyes widened slightly. “Really?” she said. “It seems as though you’ve known each other far longer. Jimmy isn’t normally so relaxed around people he’s just met.” She looked closely at him an echo of her earlier intensity back in her eyes. “And neither are Vulcans from my experience,” she added.

Spock resisted the urge to squirm under her scrutiny. Her body might be feeling the aches that come with age but her gaze was as fiercely perceptive as her grandson’s. “I am half Human,” he said, surprising himself. He normally resisted offering that particular explanation for any anomaly others might perceive in his actions or demeanour in comparison to other Vulcans.

Mrs. Kirk leant forward in her chair. “Then you’re Sarek’s son,” she said slowly, the words a statement rather than a question. 

Spock found himself uncharacteristically lost for words. “You know my father?” he eventually managed to ask.

The old woman tilted her head to one side and paused before giving him an answer. “Yes,” she replied simply. “I did.” She leant back in her chair again. “We were acquainted a long time ago,” she added. “He is a fine man.” 

Spock frowned and opened his mouth to question her further, but she held up her hand to stall him. “You’ll have to ask him,” she said and Spock experienced the very Human emotion of frustration. She laughed at the look on his face, her suddenly mischievous expression seeming to wipe years off her age. “I seem to remember,” she continued, “that your father was a very fine musician. Might you have inherited his abilities?”

Spock swallowed, rather discomfited but the most unexpected knowledge that this woman was acquainted with his parent. He was eager to know more but she seemed unlikely to volunteer any further information. “I play the ka’athyra,” he said finally, his voice sounding odd to his own ears.

“The mandolin over there is very similar,” she told him, inclining her head towards the instrument leaning against the wall. “It was a gift a long time ago, but I’ve never really been able to play it that well. I don’t suppose you would…” 

Spock gave a small shake of the head. “I am afraid I would not do it justice,” he replied. 

“It would make me very happy if you would try,” the old lady responded, looking at him hopefully. Spock hesitated slightly then got to his feet, walking over to retrieve the instrument. He could tell it was a fine example just by the feel of it in his hands. Its weight was perfectly balanced, its shape carved by a loving and skilled hand, the strings taut across its frame. He sat back down in his seat and ran his fingers experimentally over the strings. It was, he discovered, not dissimilar to his lyre. He picked out a few notes of a comparatively simple composition by a Vulcan composer of the last century. 

Emmie Kirk closed her eyes and remained perfectly still as he continued, finding his way through the piece with the instinct of a natural musician. As he played the final notes of the work she smiled contentedly. “Do you know An Affair to Remember?” she asked, her eyes still closed as the final note hung in the air.

Spock’s hand hovered over the strings as he considered the unexpected request. The archaic Earth composition was one few Humans, let alone Vulcans, would know. It was the first time anyone but his mother, who had a particular fondness for the piece, had asked for it. Wondering at the odds of such an occurrence, he bent his dark head and began to play the familiar melody. As he drew to the end of the piece he heard a noise behind him and glanced around. Kirk stood in the doorway, leaning against the frame. As Spock sounded the final lingering notes, he came into the room.

“You play that really well,” he said admiringly as he walked across the room and bent to kiss his grandmother’s cheek. She smiled sleepily and reached up to pet his cheek, only half opening her eyes. Kirk drew back quietly and gestured to Spock to follow him, putting his finger to his lips in the Human gesture that meant ‘be quiet’. Spock carefully laid the lute against the front of the chair, not wishing to disturb Mrs Kirk, who was apparently close to slumber, as he rose to follow him. 

 

~*~*~*~

Kirk led Spock outside, quietly closing the door to his grandmother’s cottage behind them. He sat on a bench to the side of the door. “Sorry I took off like that,” he said. “I don’t get to see Scotty that often and we aren’t here for long.”

Spock sat down beside him. “There is no need for an apology,” he said. “I was not averse to spending some time in the company of your grandmother. She is a fascinating woman.”

Kirk smiled and closed his eyes, tipping his head back to catch the rays from the sun. It seemed to be a habit of his, Spock noted, then wondered that he now appeared to be fondly cataloguing the man’s habits. “She is, isn’t she?” the Human was saying. He opened his eyes and turned his head to look directly at Spock. “You were pretty good on that lute,” he said.

“I was mediocre at best,” Spock replied, truthfully in his estimation, since he had been nowhere as proficient with the instrument as he would have been playing one he was familiar with. “Your grandmother knew my father,” he added. 

Kirk sat up straight at that. “You’re kidding?!” he said. “How?”

Spock gave a slight shrug of his shoulders, a gesture he would not have allowed himself had he been in more formal surroundings. “She did not say,” he responded, “only that they were acquainted many years ago.”

“Jeez,” Kirk responded. “Small world, huh?”

This time Spock did not pretend to misunderstand the idiom. “Indeed,” he said thoughtfully. “I admit I am curious as to the form their acquaintanceship took.”

Kirk looked at him sharply and gave a bark of laughter. “You think they were secret lovers?” he asked, conspiratorially.

Spock’s expression turned to one of admonishment. “I find that most unlikely,” he replied sternly. 

“Why not?” Kirk teased. “It’s possible, isn’t it?”

“Vulcans do not have ‘secret lovers’,” Spock told him, then thought for a moment, “or generally any lovers at all,” he added. In truth he was unsure if this was indeed the case, considering how closely his people guarded their privacy, but he thought it most unlikely.

Kirk looked at him thoughtfully. “Well, I think that’s a real shame,” he said, reaching out his hand to rub Spock’s knee, the touch somehow more intimate than the previous occasions the Human had made similar gestures. Spock felt his eyes drawn inexorably to the sight, as they had been when Kirk had touched him in that way on board the ship. He swallowed as he forced himself to look up and meet the his eyes. Kirk’s expression was a curious mixture of hope and trepidation that was far removed from the speculation Spock had seen there on that previous occasion. It was a look that he couldn’t help but be drawn by. He felt himself leaning towards him in a movement he couldn’t have stopped even if he had wanted to. 

Kirk slowly scooted along the bench so his upper leg was pressed against Spock’s from hip to knee, at the same time moving the hand that rested on his leg so that the fingertips were just straying into the territory of his inner thigh. Spock tensed slightly at the proximity and worried his lower lip with his teeth in a habit that had not manifested itself since his childhood, when his father had admonished him for such an outward display of anxiety. Kirk reached up to gently touch his jaw line and, despite his reservations, Spock found himself closing his eyes and pressing his face into the touch. His world shrank into one that included only the awareness of the heat of the sun and of the body so close to his own. He heard the hitch in Kirk’s breath, could feel the trembling of the body so close to his own. 

Kirk found himself suddenly, achingly hard as he watched the Vulcan lean so uninhibitedly into his touch. His hand was trembling where it touched the other’s leg, and he could hardly breathe. He took in every detail of Spock’s face - the elegantly upswept eyebrows and the delicately pointed ears, the way his dark eyelashes fanned beneath the closed lids, the enticingly parted pink lips. His gaze fixed on his mouth as he moved slowly forward. The moment their lips touched, Kirk was lost. He pulled the Vulcan roughly closer, suddenly not able to wait. 

Spock felt light-headed as Kirk pulled him into an embrace. He heard himself let out a sound that was part despair and part abandon as the cool lips pressed urgently against his own. The sensation was almost over-powering, like nothing he had ever experienced before. He clutched at the Human’s back, grabbing fistfuls of his t-shirt while barely registering what he was doing. Kirk groaned into his open mouth and he felt a darting tongue find its way in to wetly caress his own, probing and exploring. It tasted delicious, like berries and fruit juice and pink champagne. He eagerly returned the kiss, urging Kirk’s tongue backwards with his own, completely caught up in his desire to explore his mouth, to get more of that intoxicating, overwhelming taste. It wasn’t enough. He pushed his body against the Human’s, his hands sliding down his back and up under the thin t-shirt. He moaned again as his hands felt the bare flesh and taut muscles of his back.

“Oi, you two,” a voice came as if from a great distance. “Would ye not think aboot gettin’ a room?”

Spock made an incoherent sound of protest as bodily contact was abruptly lost. He automatically reached out towards Kirk before some semblance of control took over and, with great effort, he forced his hands down to his sides, fists clenched. He could not bring himself to look up and stared down at the slats of the bench that were now visible in the gap between their bodies.

Kirk seemed to be having no such trouble restraining himself. “Oh fuck off, Scotty,” he shouted genially to his friend. “Can’t you see where you’re not welcome?”

“Aye, that much is obvious,” came the amused reply. “I’ll leave you to it then.”

As the sound of footsteps retreated into the distance, Spock remained perfectly still, his eyes still fixed on the swirls and whorls of the wooden seat. His mind was racing as he tried to reclaim his equilibrium, to calm himself enough so that he could extricate himself from this humiliating situation. He could not believe he had lost control so suddenly and so completely, and in a public place.

Kirk turned towards the being he had been thoroughly enjoying kissing before they were so rudely interrupted. Spock was as still as a statue, tension written in every line of his body. Kirk frowned slightly as he inclined his head to see if he could see the other’s face, but Spock’s head was tilted down and away from him. He reached out to touch his arm and the Vulcan, if it were possible, seemed to tense even further. “Hey,” Kirk said, “sorry about him. He has all the subtlety of a Denebian Slime Devil sometimes.” When Spock didn’t respond, the Human tugged slightly on his arm. “Spock?” he said questioningly. “You ok?”

Spock pulled his arm sharply away, aware that the gesture in itself was indicative of his lack of control, but unable to bear being in contact with him a moment longer. He got abruptly to his feet and turned away. “There is no need to apologise for your friend,” he said tightly. “It is I who was in error.” He started walking away and Kirk leapt to his feet, catching up with him in a few quick steps. He reached out to grab his arm and Spock pulled away again. 

Kirk stared at his back, puzzled at the sudden change of mood. Everything had been going so well and he didn’t understand why the Vulcan now seemed so upset. “Spock,” he said again. “I don’t get it. I mean, I thought you were enjoying it.”

Spock whirled around to face him. “I had no right to enjoy it!” he near shouted, and Kirk stared at him in astonishment. Even given the short time they had known each other, the fury on the other’s face seemed completely out of character. 

“What, you mean because of your fiancée? Or whatever it is you call them on Vulcan,” he started, “cos you know that seems pretty weird to me. I mean, if you were just a kid then how would you even know…”

“I was not ‘a kid’,” Spock interrupted, his voice still raised. He took a deep breath and forced himself to meet Kirk’s eyes. “My parents chose not to bind me to another as a child. Given the prejudice prompted by my hybrid nature among certain of my peers it was deemed wise that I be allowed to make my own choice as an adult.”

Kirk’s eyes widened in confusion. “But you said…”

Spock met the blue eyes with an effort. He felt waves of shame washing over him and longed for nothing more than to get away from this place, to not have to admit to the Human what he had done. He briefly closed his eyes and took another deep breath before he opened them again, his resolve strengthened. “I did not say anything,” he began, “you assumed.” Kirk frowned and folded his arms defensively across his chest as his gaze hardened. “And I allowed you to do so,” Spock admitted.

“So, what then?” Kirk demanded, his anger rising. If there was one thing he hated it was being lied to. He’d had far too many people do that to him and he’d thought Spock was different. The realisation that maybe he wasn’t sparked a white hot fury that even he himself had not expected. “You just wanted to have a little fun, was that it?” he continued, his voice coming out as a choked impersonation of his normal tone. “No strings attached?” 

“No,” Spock said, staring at him. He did not understand why the Human seemed so angry. Kirk’s relationships with others were, by his own admission, habitually superficial, yet his distress seemed to be the result of believing Spock desired their encounter to be as such.

“So, what is it?” Kirk demanded, his eyes flashing with hurt.

“There is a woman,” Spock said quietly, his eyes downcast. He did not wish to anger Kirk further but he had to tell him the truth, to disabuse him of the notion that his withdrawal was a result of not wanting to be close to him as much as to assuage his own guilt. “She is a cadet at the Academy,” he continued.

Kirk gaped at him. “And you’re just mentioning this now?!”

Spock felt a flash of indignation, after all he was not the only one who was involved elsewhere and he did not know how he could have foreseen Kirk’s reaction to their current situation. “You are engaged to be married,” he stated flatly.

Kirk gave a disbelieving laugh. “Yeah,” he said bitterly, “but I never lied about it.” Spock opened his mouth to protest and Kirk held up a hand to stall him. “Yeah, I know,” he said, his blue eyes accusing and distrustful. “You didn’t lie.” He paused and wiped his arm across his eyes. Suddenly he looked weary. “Come on,” he said, a resigned tone in his voice. “We’d better get back to Emmie.” He turned towards the doorway, the conversation apparently closed. Spock, wrapped in misery and not a little confusion at what had just occurred, followed him in silence.

~*~*~*~

The two men walked into the cottage to find Kirk’s grandmother still asleep in her chair. Kirk walked over to her and gently reached out to grasp her shoulder. “Emmie,” he called softly, giving her a little shake. Her eyes opened slowly and she peered up at him for a moment, seemingly not quite sure where she was.

“Oh, Jimmy,” she said. “I’m so sorry. The first time you come to visit in so long and I doze off!”

Kirk laughed gently and bent to kiss the paper-thin skin on her cheek. “Don’t worry about it,” he said fondly. “It’s our fault for dropping in unannounced like that. Anyway,” he added, “what does a guy have to do to get fed around here?”

At his words, Mrs. Kirk rose from her seat and began making noises about cooking them a meal but Kirk sidetracked her with protestations that they weren’t that hungry, insisting on preparing something himself, although Spock suspected it was a reluctance to put his grandmother to any trouble rather than lack of hunger that motivated him. 

They sat down to a simple meal of cheese and salad, with fruit to follow. Kirk chatted to his grandmother about life in her little village while Spock remained largely silent unless Mrs. Kirk asked him a direct question, to which he politely responded. Kirk didn’t speak to him at all and the Vulcan was relieved when he stood and indicated it was time to leave.

“So soon?” his grandmother questioned, and Kirk nodded ruefully. She sighed. “Yes, you don’t want to miss that ship of yours,” she added, patting his arm, “but you come back soon, you hear?” 

“That goes for you too,” she added, directing a smile in the Vulcan’s direction. “Any son of Sarek and Amanda’s is always welcome in my home.” 

Spock inclined his head in acknowledgement, although he considered a return invitation from Kirk to be most unlikely. “I am honoured, Mrs Kirk,” he said solemnly. Kirk shot him a quick look as he linked his arm in his grandmother’s and the two of them walked slowly over towards the doorway, Spock trailing a little way behind. Kirk gave his grandmother a hug and another kiss on the cheek.

“Take care of yourself,” he said softly, then turned towards Spock. The Vulcan felt a tickling of hurt inside him as the blue gaze hardened as it rested on him. “I’m just going to say goodbye to Scotty,” he said. “I’ll make my own way back to the ship.“ He turned to give his grandmother another affectionate squeeze before he sped off, leaving Spock standing there with the old woman.

She turned towards him with a sympathetic look and reached out to pat his arm. “Don’t worry, dear,” she said. “It’ll all work out for the best, you’ll see.” Spock met her kindly, comprehending gaze and felt a sudden lump in his throat. He nodded quickly, not trusting himself to speak. She patted his arm again and reached up to place a hand on either side of his head. She drew his face down and kissed him lightly on the forehead. She shook her head, an expression of fond amusement on her face. “Ah, you young people,” she said, “it’s never easy, is it? Go on,” she added, “off you go.”

 

~*~*~*~

As the Flying Dolphin broke out of orbit around New Virginia and set course for Earth, Spock sat alone in his cabin. Cross-legged in front of his asenoi, he was attempting to meditate but finding it impossible to clear his mind enough to reach the required level of concentration. He sighed - the irony of not being able to relax enough to relax was not lost even on a Vulcan. His thoughts kept returning to the events on the planet and, eventually, he gave up trying to push them to one side, reluctantly coming to the conclusion that the only way he would be able to rid his mind of its troubling new tendency to, as his mother might say, ‘dwell’, could be to confront those thoughts head on. He got up from the floor and moved to lie on the bed, folding his hands across his chest and gazing up at the ceiling. It should be possible, he thought, to order his thoughts and control his emotional responses by simply analysing each aspect of his interaction with Kirk and his reaction to each given situation. 

He closed his eyes and replayed the conversations he had shared with the Human, his eidetic memory easily reconstructing them word for word. He lay still for precisely 10.56 minutes, then sat up on the bed and frowned. The words were easily recalled, as were his emotional responses but, contrary to expectations, the replay was not providing a greater insight into those responses. It was most disconcerting, and not something he had experienced in the relationships he had formed with other members of Kirk’s species during his time on Earth.

When he thought of the Human’s easy offer of friendship he felt warm inside, but when he thought of his anger, he again felt the twisting pain and confusion he had experienced on New Virginia. He tried thinking instead about the kiss they had shared, then abruptly swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood up. It appeared his physical reaction to Kirk did not require the Human’s presence to be activated. He walked uncomfortably into the bathroom and took a deep breath as he regarded himself in the mirror. His face showed nothing of the turmoil he felt inside and he stared at the reflection. At least he could count himself a good Vulcan in that regard, if no other at this precise moment. He turned and walked back into the living area of his cabin then stopped in the middle of the room. For the first time, he found himself understanding what humans meant when they used the phrase ‘I didn’t know what to do with myself’. He made a decision and moved to fetch his boots from where he’d left them, placed neatly side by side under a chair. Suddenly he no longer had any wish to be alone.

When he reached the bar on C-Deck - the one closest to his quarters - Spock looked surreptitiously around. He felt disappointment mixed with relief when he noted that Kirk was not present. He walked across the room and a bartender immediately appeared. Sitting on one of the stools placed at the bar, he opened his mouth to order his usual Altair Water but instead the words “do you have pink champagne?” came out without him consciously having thought them. The bartender gave him a curious look, and Spock gazed calmly back at him, his expression giving no hint that it was not his usual order. The curiosity was gone in a split second to be replaced by the bland professionalism that Spock had come to expect from the crew on the Dolphin. “Certainly, sir,” the man replied as he turned to reach for a bottle.

Spock frowned slightly the bartender placed two champagne flutes on the bar and proceeded to pour a generous measure of the pale rose-coloured liquid into each. But just as he opened his mouth to inform him that he must have misheard his order, there was a movement beside him. He looked around to see Kirk slipping onto the stool next to his. The Human glanced at the two glasses without looking at Spock, then moved to pick up the one closest to him. The Vulcan mirrored the movement and the two of them sat in silence, both staring into their drinks. After several long minutes, Spock sensed rather than saw Kirk take a quick sidelong look at him before his eyes returned to the untouched drink in front of him.

“You wanna get out of here?” the Human said softly.

Spock glanced at him and blue eyes briefly met brown. Neither said another word as they stood in unison. Kirk reached out and grabbed his hand, seemingly not caring who saw them, and pulled him towards the exit. Once they were out of the bar and in the corridor, Kirk stopped and turned to look at him. “I’m not great at saying sorry,” he admitted, a rueful smile on his face, “so can you just assume that I am and forgive me for acting like such a dick?”

Spock tilted his head to one side. “You did not ‘act like a dick’,” he replied, and Kirk’s grin widened at the echo of his words in that precise way the Vulcan had of speaking. Spock paused. “I too regret our disagreement,” he added.

Kirk squeezed his hand. “Ok,” he said. “Friends again?” Spock nodded wordlessly, his sense heightened by the coolness of the Human hand firmly clasped in his own. He firmly suppressed the flash of desire he felt. They could not be more than friends but that did not mean they could not spend more time together before their arrival at Earth. He found himself relieved that they would not part on bad terms. 

Kirk pulled on the hand clasped within his own. “C’mon then,” he said, “there’s something I wanna show you.” Spock allowed himself to be dragged down the corridor, not knowing where they were going but not finding it within himself to care at that precise moment. He pushed aside the little voice in his head that whispered that maybe spending more time in Kirk’s company was not the best of ideas after all.

Kirk steered them along the corridors of the ship, laughing when Spock inquired as to where they were heading. “It’s a surprise,” he answered, “but I think it’ll be a good one.” Spock bit down a comment that Vulcans did not like surprises. In truth, although Vulcans did not in general like being surprised, Spock had discovered that in certain circumstances the unexpected could be welcome. If Vulcans were not also disinclined to gamble, he would have wagered that this was, in all likelihood, one of those times. He was not disappointed. Kirk led them to an area of the ship to which he had not been before. The Human stopped in front of a door that did not, as nearly all of those on the ship did, open automatically. Spock peered suspiciously at the information plate on the wall next to the entrance.

“This is an area of the ship restricted to senior crew members only,” he stated.

“Yeah,” Kirk replied, “but I have the key.”

“Key?” Spock questioned, considering such an anachronism unlikely.

Kirk laughed. “Well as good as,” he said, slapping his hand on the identification panel next to the information plate. The door slid open at his touch and he stepped inside before turning and motioning to the Vulcan to do the same. Spock moved into the room. The door slid shut behind them and Spock caught his breath as he looked around.

The ship had observation decks for passengers on every one of its 15 levels, but nearly all of them were either bars or restaurants and Spock had tended to avoid them as they were always crowded to a degree that he found uncomfortable. This smaller room, however, was empty, the transparent aluminium covering one side of it allowing an uninterrupted view of the magnificence outside. Stars twinkled silently against the limitless black expanse of space. The unfettered sight of the space was, as always, one that Spock found awe-inspiring. It was the sight that, along with his yearning to be somewhere where he was not always the only one who was different, had set him on his path to StarFleet, a path that he intended to eventually lead him into space. He walked forward towards the stars, then paused to look back at Kirk. 

“You like?” the Human asked, smiling at him.

“It is a most pleasing view,” Spock allowed as he turned back to look out of the window, and Kirk’s grin widened.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” the Human said, walking across the room to stand next to him. “I used to spend hours looking at the stars when I was a kid,” he added, and Spock thought he detected a tone of wistfulness in his voice.

“Did you really consider a career in StarFleet?” he asked.

Kirk was silent for a moment, then he gestured towards the seating arranged in front of the window. “You wanna sit down?” he asked and Spock nodded his agreement. They moved to the comfortable sofas arranged so that those in the room could get the best view of the space outside. Kirk flopped down into the seat and Spock perched carefully next to him, his back straight and his hands folded in his lap in stark contrast to the position of the Human, who leant back and stretched his feet out in front of him. Kirk put his hands behind his head and rested them against the back of the seat. Spock remained silent, waiting for an answer to his question.

“StarFleet was all I wanted for a while,” Kirk eventually said.

Spock leant carefully back on the sofa. The seat was rather softer than he would prefer, not lending itself to a Vulcan’s precise, upright posture, rather designed for the lounging most Humans seemed to prefer. The movement brought his head level with Kirk’s and Spock suddenly found himself very aware of the small distance between their bodies. He clamped down his controls. He wanted to hear what Kirk had to say, but he did not wish to risk a repeat of the loss of restraint he had experienced on the planet. 

Kirk smiled as he watched the Vulcan gingerly mirroring his position on the sofa. He supposed one of those straight-backed wooden chairs that forced you into a militarily formal position, however relaxed you might feel inside, would really be more Spock’s style, but it was strangely cute seeing him try to maintain a semblance of that posture on a sofa that could only be described as ‘squishy’. He forced himself to look ahead as he continued to speak. “Things just changed as I got older.” 

Spock took a sidelong glance at him. “In what way?” he questioned.

Kirk shrugged. “I suppose I realised that living up to what my dad did was going to be out of my reach. It’s all very well going into StarFleet when no one knows you and all you have to prove is that you’re good enough, but, shit, my dad was ‘George Kirk: StarFleet hero’. You know?”

Spock nodded. Attempting to live up to the achievements of a parent was not something with which he was unfamiliar. He had wondered from time to time how much of his decision to join StarFleet had been down to his desire to escape from the shadow of his father’s achievements. It was a thought he normally quashed. Now, however, he was being asked a direct question and there was something about Kirk that demanded his honesty. He regretted he had not been completely forthcoming with him previously and some instinct within him told him he could trust this man. “I understand,” he said.

The hint of resignation in the Vulcan’s tone made Kirk turn to him, curiosity written all over his face. “How d’you mean?” he asked.

“My father is the Vulcan ambassador to Earth,” Spock answered, “my family one of the most powerful on Vulcan. T’Pau is the matriarch of our clan.”

Kirk whistled at the mention of T’Pau. Despite his oft-bandied about title as a galactic playboy, he kept up with politics and current affairs, although he might not admit that to a casual acquaintance for fear of tarnishing the reputation he kept closely wrapped around him. The formidable Vulcan was the only person in history to have turned down a seat on the Federation Council. Her name was one that was known throughout the galaxy, inspiring awe and often a certain amount of trepidation. He had no doubt that she would have high expectations of a member of her family, and he imagined the Vulcan ambassador to Earth was no less likely to demand a certain level of achievement from his son. “I guess you do know then,” he said.

Spock gave him a look that was shot through with amusement and Kirk wondered how he had ever thought more a moment that this was a face incapable of expression. If you looked for it, it was always there, in infinitely more subtle ways than it would be if he were Human, but definitely there. “It can be difficult,” the Vulcan said carefully, “to follow a path other than that expected of you by your family.”

Kirk leant forward, resting his elbows on his knees and propping his chin up in his hands. “But you did it,” he said, the words a statement rather than a question.

Spock inclined his head. “It was not an easy decision,” he said. “I was offered a place at the Vulcan Science Academy.” He paused, remembering the looks on the faces of those on the admissions board, his father among them, when he had refused their offer. “No one had ever turned down a place before.”

Kirk gave him a sideways glance at the deadpan tone, and laughed lightly. “Didn’t go down a storm, huh?” he said. He thought he saw the corners of the Vulcan’s mouth lift slightly as Spock returned the look.

“It was unexpected,” Spock replied, and Kirk could only imagine this was the Vulcan version of an understatement.

“Kinda ironic, isn’t it?” he said, prompting a quizzical look. “I mean,” he continued, “T’Pau’s the only person ever to have turned down a seat on the Federation Council, and here’s you following in the family tradition with the turning down thing, and they get their knickers all in a twist over it.”

Spock’s mouth quirked again, this time accompanied by a raised eyebrow. He found the concept of any members of the academy admissions board wearing a garment that might in any way be suited to the appellation ‘knickers’ to be outlandish in the extreme, but he had to admit the idea did somewhat take the sting out of the memory of the look of disappointment in his father’s eyes. “I had not thought of it in those terms,” he admitted, his tone shot through with amusement.

“You’re braver than I am,” Kirk said, regret tingeing his voice. 

Spock was unsure how to respond to the quiet statement. He followed the Human’s gaze to the stars outside the ship. “It is not a matter of bravery,” he said eventually. “We all have choices to make and each of those choices will inevitably have repercussions, some positive, others negative.”

Kirk leant back in the sofa once more and stretched his hands out above his head, his feet out in front of him. Spock had to physically restrain himself from allowing his regard to travel down the Human’s well-muscled body. He inwardly chastised himself. He wanted to know Kirk’s thoughts and he was unused to the physical distracting him from the cerebral. He forced himself to fix his gaze on the other’s face. Kirk coloured slightly and Spock felt himself blush in response, something else he was not prone to that seemed to have become an increasingly more frequent occurrence since he had first encountered this Human.

Kirk stared at him. “But it doesn’t mean we have to stick with our decisions when we realise they’re the wrong ones, does it?”

Spock found himself lost in the blue-eyed gaze. He wanted nothing more at that moment than to reach out and touch the man sitting so close to him. The physical reaction he had felt when they kissed on the planet washed over him again. He swallowed, finding it hard to concentrate on the reasons why he shouldn’t allow this to happen. He should leave now while he still could. “Did you make the wrong ones?” he heard himself whisper instead.

Kirk reached out to smooth the black hair above one pointed ear and Spock held his breath. He closed his eyes as the sensations consumed him. 

“I don’t know anymore,” the Human said quietly. “I don’t know what this is,” he added.

Spock reached for the hand that was touching him and brought it down to press his lips softly against the palm. “Neither do I,” he admitted.

“We reach Earth tomorrow,” Kirk said, the statement hanging in the air. Spock understood what he was asking. He opened his eyes and met the Human’s gaze. There was an unspoken plea in his open expression, another small hint of vulnerability, and something within the Vulcan broke. He could not resist any longer. All his life he had lived by logic, even his motivations for going against the wishes of his father and the other elders of his clan had been driven by his own personal brand of logic, but now, just for this moment, it was no longer his primary driving force and he discovered that in the presence of this Human, he could not bring himself to care. He reached out and pulled Kirk into his arms.

The Human slipped his hands up under Spock’s arms and grasped the back of his shoulders as lips met. All the frustrated passion he had been keeping inside since their encounter on the planet came rushing to the surface and suddenly he couldn’t get enough of the taste of the Vulcan. He plundered his mouth with his tongue as his hands clutched desperately at his back. He was lost in the sensation of the hot body pressed tightly against his own. He moved his hands around between them and pushed them up under the Vulcan’s tunic, groaning as he felt his bare flesh for the first time. “Jesus, I want you,” he heard himself saying. “Please,” he added, vaguely aware of the desperate need in his voice but too turned on to care. Spock suddenly pulled away and Kirk stared wildly at him. “Wha…” was all he managed to get out.

Spock tried to calm himself. His heart was beating so it felt like it might burst out of his side and it took all his control to ignore the throbbing between his legs. “We should go,” he said with difficulty. “Not private,” he added, noting in some part of his brain that he appeared to have lost the ability to speak in complete sentences.

“Oh,” Kirk said, relief evident in his voice. “No, we’ve got this room for the evening,” Captain ok’d it,” he murmured. “I was gonna make you dinner once I found you,” he added, as he pushed his body against Spock’s, gently urging him backwards until he lay flat out on the sofa. Kirk moved so he was lying squarely on top of him and lowered his head so his lips were just a whisper away from touching the Vulcan ones. Soft brown eyes looked up at him, and they seemed so young and innocent up close. He reached up to run his index finger across the other’s lower lip. “You’re so beautiful,” he whispered, his voice full of a wonderment even he’d never heard there before. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone as beautiful as you are.”

Spock let his mouth open slightly under Kirk’s touch and the tip of his tongue touched at the finger on his lips. Kirk groaned as his finger slipped into the hot, wet mouth. Spock nipped at it gently with sharp teeth, and Kirk stared down at him, his eyes wide. The uninhibited way in which Spock was sucking on the digit sent shivers of anticipation down his spine. He watched in fascination as the Vulcan sucked him in. If that mouth around his tongue could turn him on so much, he couldn’t begin to fathom what it might do to him if it were to be applied to other parts of his anatomy. The erotic vision that thought put in his head, made him gasp out loud and Spock abruptly stopped what he was doing, opening his eyes and looking up at him.

“Is this not right?” he asked, slight worried creases appearing at the corner of his eyes.

“Oh God, that is so right I can’t even speak,” Kirk said breathlessly.

“That would seem to be a contradiction…” Spock’s words were abruptly cut off as Kirk’s lips met his own again. The kiss ignited their passion as quickly as it had on the planet and the Vulcan found himself groaning helplessly as Kirk’s tongue found its way back into his mouth. 

Kirk thrust his hips against the body below him and moaned in pleasure as Spock gave an equally strong answering movement. He rubbed himself against the Vulcan and even though they were both still fully clothed he could feel his excitement building to another level. He hurriedly moved his hands down to grasp the bottom of Spock’s tunic, pulling it roughly upwards. Spock brought a hand up to his chest and pushed him backwards, sitting up and shifting Kirk to straddle his lap as he did so, their kisses not missing a beat for the whole manoeuvre. The Vulcan’s hands moved to help remove the offending garment, breaking off contact with Kir’s mouth for just long enough to pull it over his head. The movement slightly mussed the black bangs that normally rested so neatly on his forehead and Kirk felt another charge of sexual energy run through him. Semi-naked and with his hair lying dishevelled across his brow, Spock looked so damn sexy. Their new positions gave him free rein to run his hands over the hot Vulcan body and he took full advantage, his hands exploring the contours of the well-muscled back, stroking their way down his sides, working back up again before being drawn irresistibly back into the hair that was surely so much softer than any Human’s had ever been.

It was Spock’s turn to tug impatiently at the tunic covering the flesh he was longing to touch. Kirk was happy to oblige, but ended up trying to awkwardly shrug out of the shirt without losing any more contact than he had to with the Vulcan. The clothing got tangled around his head and he laughed, half in frustration, half in genuine amusement that his eagerness seemed to have momentarily transformed him into a good approximation of a horny teenager who couldn’t let go of the body next to his for long enough to get out of his clothes. Spock helpfully pulled the shirt over his head and Kirk emerged grinning. “Oops,” he said, only for the word to be swallowed up as a Vulcan mouth kissed him again. 

Spock grew in confidence as he realised how excited Kirk was. He had not had much sexual experience, and none with a Human male, but his body seemed to be acting of its own accord. He moved to place kisses on Kirk’s face, working his way along his jaw line to his neck. The Human threw his head back and to one side to allow him better access and Spock used his teeth to nip at the lightly browned skin offered up to him, first gently and then, as the Human’s moans encouraged him, harder. However illogical it might be, he wanted to leave his mark on Kirk, to know that even when this was over, there would be a reminder of it branded on his flesh. 

Kirk groaned at the feel of the delicious pain on his neck. He grabbed hold of Spock’s arms and leant backwards. Spock scrambled to follow him and the two of them fell onto the couch in a tangle of limbs, this time with the Vulcan’s body covering the Human’s. Kirk turned his head, impatient to feel Vulcan lips against his own again. As their mouths met, his hands reached down to grab Spock’s buttocks, pulling him closer. They moaned in unison as their hard shafts came together.

“Uh,” Spock gasped, and Kirk wanted more than anything to make him cry out again and again. He moved his hands around to the clasp on the Vulcan’s pants and Spock lifted his hips to allow him access. “Uh,” he let out again. Kirk’s hands were trembling as he fumbled with the fastening. “Jim,” the Vulcan said, single syllables all he could apparently manage. Finally, Kirk managed to get the stubborn clasp open and he impatiently pushed Spock’s pants and underwear down out of the way, then moved to do the same with his own. Neither moved to remove the clothing further, too caught up in the sensation as their cocks met between them. Spock started thrusting against him immediately and Kirk reached to grasp both of them in his hand. The Vulcan was shaking, his breath coming in quick gasps as his thrusts grew more frantic and uncontrolled. He opened his eyes and looked down into Kirk’s.

Kirk stared back at up him. He could feel his orgasm building. His cock was throbbing with the need to let go. He moved his hand in time with Spock’s thrusting, the friction of the Vulcan cock moving against his own creating a sensation that was so intense it was almost painful. The look of pure lust on Spock’s face was something he thought he might never be able to get enough of. He gave their cocks an experimental squeeze and Spock cried out. 

“Oh,” Kirk heard himself say. “Oh, shit I’m gonna...” He threw his head back as he felt Spock give one final hard thrust. The Vulcan’s seed gushed out all over his hand and his belly, the hotness of it coating his own cock and tipping him so far over the edge his head felt like it might be about to explode. He squeezed his eyes shut as his own orgasm hit him like a tidal wave, shocks of pleasure rippling over his body, radiating out from his cock and bathing him in an unspeakable delight.

Spock collapsed on top of him. He was still shaking and gasping as Kirk gathered him close, wrapping his arms around him and pressing his mouth against the top of the sleek, black head. He couldn’t think, could barely speak. “Spock,” he mouthed against the soft hair. “Spock.” There was a lump in his throat and he squeezed his eyes shut, not sure why they should be wet when he didn’t think he’d ever been so completely happy. Vulcan arms tightened around him and Kirk could feel the tip of a nose pressed into his neck. They lay together without moving, spent and satisfied, Kirk holding Spock tightly as the Vulcan’s shaking gradually stilled and his breath slowed towards its normal rate.

Spock was the first to stir. As the heat of the moment died down he began to feel uncomfortably exposed. He was acutely aware of his nakedness, of how it would look, despite Kirk’s assurances, were someone to enter the room. He wasn’t sure what action to take. While his nose was buried in Kirk’s skin and the Human’s arms were holding him, he didn’t have to meet his eyes or think of something appropriate to say, yet he could certainly not remain in his current position - his bare buttocks exposed and his pants around his ankles - indefinitely. 

Kirk stroked the Vulcan’s back. “What are you thinking?” he asked, breaking into his racing thoughts.

Spock shifted slightly then reluctantly raised his head until his eyes were about level with Kirk’s chin. He looked up at him. “I am thinking that this position is most undignified,” he answered. Kirk’s body started shaking underneath him and Spock was momentarily alarmed until he realised his new lover was laughing. 

“Oh, you are priceless,” Kirk said. “That has to be one of the best post-sex lines I’ve ever heard.” He shook the Vulcan slightly. “You’re supposed to say ‘that was the best ever’ or ‘you’re awesome’ or even ‘fuck me again, baby’.” He shook his head. “This position is most undignified,” he echoed, his tone a credible imitation of the Vulcan’s precise pattern of speech.

Spock pushed himself up on his arms so he could see him properly. “I apologise,” he said solemnly. “That was the best ever,” he intoned. “You are awesome…baby,” he finished, and Kirk dissolved into hysterics. Spock lifted an eyebrow, which had the result of sending Kirk into even more helpless paroxysms of laughter. The Vulcan raised himself into a standing position next to the couch, pulling up his pants as he did so. “And if I understand the term correctly,” he added, “It would be inaccurate to say fuck me ‘again’.”

Kirk clutched at his stomach as he laughed, seemingly not in the slightest bit embarrassed by his state of undress, and Spock found himself mesmerised by the sight of someone who could be so uninhibited while in such an exposed state. 

Kirk’s penis was lying against his stomach and Spock took the opportunity to look more closely. He had never seen a Human male fully unclothed before and he was intrigued to note the anatomical differences between them. Kirk’s cock was thick and sturdy whereas his own was longer and thinner. There was a single ridge where on a Vulcan there would be a double. Most intriguing was its pinkness. While intellectually he had known the colouration would be different on a Human, it was still strange to see the rosy hue where his own penis was a deep green when erect. He was so caught up in his study that he failed to notice that Kirk’s laughter had died away. When he eventually noticed the silence that had descended on the room, he looked up to see Kirk watching him intently. He felt his face heat up. Kirk met his eyes with a steady blue gaze. “You can touch if you like,” he said.

Spock moved slowly forwards and sat on the couch next to Kirk’s legs. He reached out a hand and ran his index finger slowly along the length of the Human’s now flaccid member. It stirred at his touch and Kirk’s eyes widened in astonishment. He’d never been a slouch in the bedroom department but this was a quick turnaround even for him. Spock was looking at his dick like it was the most fascinating thing he had ever seen. He’d never been the subject of such intense scrutiny but, far from making him self-conscious, as he might have supposed it would had he ever thought about it, he found it a huge turn-on. The Vulcan wrapped his fingers around him and smoothed his thumb over the slit at the top. Kirk closed his eyes and groaned.

Spock looked up sharply at the sound. He had been so engrossed in what he was doing that he’d almost forgotten there was a person attached to the appendage. The look of unabashed pleasure on Kirk’s face, however, quickly reminded him. He kept his gaze on the Human’s face for a moment then his eyes flashed back to the penis in his hand. Did he dare? He had never done such a thing, never thought about it, but suddenly the urge to take the cock in his mouth was overwhelming. Quickly, before he could think better of it, he bent his head and flicked his tongue out to taste him.

Kirk nearly leapt out of his skin at the hot, wet touch on the tip of his penis. “Omigod, ohmigod,” he heard himself saying. It was all he could do to not to reach out his hands and push Spock further down on him. The light touch was in equal parts maddening and thrilling and gone as quickly as it was there. Kirk opened his eyes a fraction and peered down his body. Spock’s lips were just millimetres away from touching him again, his eyes fixed intently on his prize. Kirk’s hands fluttered ineffectually at his sides and he drew in a sharp breath as Spock slowly moved his head the small distance towards him. The Vulcan opened his mouth and took the tip of his penis inside. He drew his tongue languidly around it, lapping at it for all the world as if it were a particularly delicious flavour of ice cream. “Oh, Jesus,” Kirk managed, just as Spock swallowed. “Nuh!” Kirk uttered as he fell into incoherence. He thrashed his head from side to side as Spock drew upwards, only to plunge back down again, and again and again until the Human’s cries were echoing around the room. The Vulcan moved a hand to fondle his balls and Kirk was undone. Unable to control himself any longer, he reached down to hold Spock’s head and began to thrust into his mouth. With one last cry he raised his head to look at the Vulcan and froze as his seed spurted out of him into the willing mouth. He fell back against the cushions as Spock’s tongue resumed its gentle lapping, his mouth working to squeeze every last drop of cum from the softening penis. When he was done he scooted his body up alongside Kirk’s and kissed his mouth, swirling his tongue inside so their tastes mingled together.

“That,” Kirk said once he got his breath back, “was awesome,”

“Indeed,” Spock replied, then quirked an eyebrow in Kirk’s direction, “baby,” he added. 

 

~*~*~*~

Spock lay in Kirk’s bunk and looked around once again at the opulent surroundings. His own accommodation on board the ship was far from spartan but Kirk’s was positively extravagant, from the thick white rugs that covered nearly every inch of the flooring to the old-fashioned chandelier that hung from the ceiling. “You’re looking at it again, aren’t you?” Kirk said, his voice muffled. 

“It does seem most wasteful to dedicate such a large area of space to one suite of rooms,” Spock replied, and Kirk sighed. He lifted his head up from where it was resting on Spock’s bare chest and moved to put his forearms across the Vulcan’s body instead, raising himself up on them so he could look into his face.

“You think I’m a waster, don’t you?” he asked.

“I did not say that,” Spock responded.

Kirk remained silent for a moment then shifted to one side and sat up, raising his knees and resting his arms on them. He looked down at the Vulcan. “You didn’t really have to,” he said, “and I guess you’d be right if you did.”

“Jim, I,” Spock began, but Kirk motioned at him and he broke off his response and instead looked questioningly at the Human.

Kirk looked back at him and a hundred things he might say ran through his mind, but there was no inkling to tell him what might be the right thing. This night had been the most amazing of his life. After they’d left the officers’ observation room, they’d returned to his suite and collapsed onto the bed, falling into sleep wrapped tightly around each other. He’d awoken to find Spock silently gazing around the room, and he’d looked at it again himself, thinking for the first time what the extravagant luxury might say about him to someone who cared nothing for such indulgences. He’d seen the doubt in Spock’s eyes and he’d wanted to make it go away, so he’d slid down his body to take him in his mouth. He could still taste the wonderfulness of him now as he met the worried-looking brown eyes. “We can make this work,” he said quickly, as though the doubts would be banished if he could just cover them rapidly enough with his words.

Spock stared at him. He wanted nothing more than to reassure him but now they had sated their lust, reality was intruding. He should not have allowed himself to indulge his newly awakened carnal instincts. He could not force himself to regret what they had shared but from whatever angle he regarded their situation he could not see how they could live in each other’s worlds, could not see a future where they were together.

“Jim,” he said slowly. “You are engaged to be married. I am also in a relationship with another, and I am in Starfleet,” he added.

Kirk grimaced. He of all people knew how a career in the service could tear people apart. Few relationships could survive the enforced separations of one party having a career in the ’Fleet and he had never imagined wanting to try it, not for anyone. But when he looked at Spock he wanted to hold him and never let him go. “I want you,” he said determinedly, “and if you want me too then we can work through all of that.”

Spock rolled over and swung his legs over the side of the bed. He looked down at the floor. “I don’t see how,” he said softly. 

Kirk glared at the rigid back and reached over to grab his shoulder, forcing him to turn around and look him in the eye. “Do you want me?” he demanded. Spock stared at him. “Spock,” he said more softly, giving his shoulder a gentle shake.

The Vulcan stared at him for a heartbeat longer and Kirk held his breath. A rush of fear washed over him at his own recklessness at pushing things this far, but he didn’t know what else he could do. The ship was due to arrive at Earth in less than two hours and if he didn’t say something, do something, then that would be it. He would never see him again. And still Spock hesitated. “Spock?” he prompted, not sure if he could bear to hear the answer to his question.

Spock glanced down then took a deep breath, seeming to come to a decision. He looked up and met the sharp blue eyes, now creased with worry. He felt a pang of loss even though the Human was still there with him. “Yes,” he said slowly, “I believe…” the rest of his words were cut off as lips pressed against his own. 

“Just stop there, ok?” Kirk said as he pulled away. “Look,” he added, his tone more confident than he felt, “that’s all we need to know. We can fix everything else.” At Spock’s doubtful look he jumped to his feet and walked part way across the room, paying no attention to his lack of clothes, then turned around to face the Vulcan again, a plan forming in his head. “How about we give it six months?” he said slowly.

Spock frowned back at him. “I do not understand,” he said.

Kirk covered the distance back to the bed in two quick strides. He swung himself up onto it, landing on his knees and leaning forwards towards the Vulcan. “Look,” he said, “we both have things we need to think about. I know this has all happened quickly but what if we take six months apart to think about it? Then we meet up and if we both still feel the same way, we’ll do everything we can to make a go of it.” He sat back on his heels and looked hopefully at the Vulcan.

Spock returned his gaze thoughtfully. “The idea does have some merit,” he said. Although his voice was calm, inside he was far less so. The events of the past few days had been unexpected. In truth he did not know what was the best way to proceed or how to handle the situation he found himself in. Less than a week ago he had been so sure of his path. James Kirk’s appearance in his life had thrown him off-balance, made him feel emotions he had not even thought he was capable of. Although the thought of parting from him for six months gave him a jolt of loneliness, there was also a sense of relief. He needed some time to regroup, to make sense of the feelings Kirk had awakened in him. He needed to find a perspective he was currently lacking. “You would suggest we do not have any contact during this period of time?” he asked.

Kirk nodded. He felt excited by what he had in mind. He’d looked around at his surroundings, at his life, and realised how much it was lacking. Sure, he had money, he had all the lovers he wanted, the best of everything, but now that wasn’t enough. He wanted to be someone who was worthy of Spock and he planned to do everything within his power during the next six months to prove - to Spock, to himself, and to everyone - that he was. He waited with baited breath for the Vulcan’s response.

“And at the end of the six months?” Spock asked.

“We meet up,” Kirk answered, “at the, um, at the…top of the Empire State Building,” he finished, picking the location off the top of his head.

“The Empire State Building?” Spock questioned, raising an eyebrow. “Why that particular structure?”

Kirk grinned at the now familiar expression on the Vulcan’s face and leant over to kiss him lightly on the lips. “Because it’s romantic, Spock,” he said. 

Spock raised the other eyebrow to mirror the first. “If you say so,” he said, doubtfully.

“So is it a deal then?” Kirk asked, holding out his right hand.

Spock looked at the outstretched hand. “Six months from this day would be March 26th by the Earth-standard calendar,” he said.

“Ok,” Kirk answered, not bothering to work it out, as he was more than sure the Vulcan would have calculated it correctly. “March 26th it is then.”

“At what time?” Spock questioned, and Kirk wasn’t sure whether to grin at the precision or slap at him for dragging this out when all he really wanted to know right now was whether he’d be there or not.

“4pm,” he said quickly, picking a time just as randomly as he’d picked a location. “So is it a deal, or not?” he added, suddenly desperate to know the answer.

Spock seemed to consider the proposal for a while longer before he finally reached to take Kirk’s hand in his own. “It is a deal,” he answered. 

 

~*~*~*~

Kirk made his way to the de-embarkation point for passengers, the strap of his lightweight travelling case slung over his shoulder. He never took much with him when he went on one of his regular trips off planet. He figured that if he needed anything he could just buy it when he got to wherever it was he was going, but that was all about to change. He planned to make his own way from now on, without help from his stepdad, without the support of his fiancée - so he wouldn’t be able to casually throw credits around like he always had in the past. Mind you, he thought to himself, he probably wouldn’t have to worry about packing for all eventualities in any case, since he wasn’t likely to be splashing out on going off planet again any time soon either. 

He looked around to see if he could pick out Spock among the passengers waiting to get off the ship. The Vulcan had left his cabin soon after they had sealed their deal with a handshake but Kirk had hoped he would see him again here. He was sure he’d done the right thing by proposing they spent six months apart, but that didn’t make it any easier to actually go through with it. He stood on tiptoes to better scan the crowd. He suddenly felt himself propelled forwards as someone crashed into him from behind.

“I do beg your pardon,” came a booming voice, and Kirk turned around to find himself faced by the strange man who’d invited him to join a game of bridge the night he’d met Spock. 

“That’s ok…” he said, trailing off when he noticed the man’s arm was firmly in the grip of one of the ship’s security staff.

“Come on, Harry,” the crewman said, irritation colouring his voice as he pulled on the arm in his grasp.

The man - Mudd, Kirk suddenly recalled - made a half-hearted attempt to shake off his captor. He flashed Kirk a wide grin, despite the fact that he seemed to be in custody. “Spot of bother, young man,” he said, then leant in towards Kirk, conspiratorially. “No sense of humour, these security types,” he added, before he was manoeuvred away towards the exit point. Kirk’s eyes widened as three more crew members marched past, each holding the arm of a scantily clad woman, all of whom were really rather underdressed considering their age and level of attractiveness but somehow looked strangely familiar. Kirk gazed after them as they disappeared into the throng. He shook his head in puzzlement. “Weird,” he said to himself, before turning back to his crowd-searching.

On the other side of the large de-embarkation area Spock gazed out over the crowd. There were beings of all kinds waiting to get on to the shuttles or the beam down stations to take them on the final stage of their journey to various parts of Earth. He found it unpleasant to be in such a large crowd and, underlying the sense of unease he generally felt when surrounded by so many uncontrolled minds, there was a hollow feeling of loss. He internally reviewed this unfamiliar emotion and immediately Kirk’s image came into his mind. ‘Fascinating,’ he murmured to himself, then felt slightly chagrined when an elderly Human woman standing just to his left gave him a surprised look - Vulcans talking to themselves not being the norm. He schooled his face into a mask of ordered calm to hide the emotion she appeared to have seen there, but she nevertheless gave him a warm smile. The look reminded him of Emmie Kirk and he turned away, suddenly discomfited. What was happening to him, that he was mentally projecting images not only of Kirk but also of members of his family, when they were quite obviously not there? 

Spock resisted the urge to scan the room for one last glimpse of the Human and, eyes fixed firmly forwards, moved with the crowd. He only looked to the side again when he had nearly reached the transporter station for which he was headed, his sharp ears picking up a disturbance in the crowd. He looked over to see a large Human man wearing what was - even for a member of his race - a rather outlandish outfit, being manhandled onto a shuttle by a security guard. The man was protesting loudly about his alleged mistreatment, as were the three middle-aged women being hustled towards the shuttle behind him. Spock stared for a moment and Kirk’s face came unbidden into his thoughts again. The image of the Human grinned as he opened his mouth. ‘Weird,’ he said, the word echoing in Spock’s mind.

 

~*~*~*~

Nyota Uhura waited in the passenger greeting area at San Francisco’s main spaceport. She felt slightly nervous, but in a good way - the jangling excited nerves of anticipation. Spock still had the power, despite the fact that they’d been together for nearly a year now, to give her butterflies in her stomach. 

She’d been drawn to him from the first time she’d caught sight of him on arrival at the Academy in her first year. He’d been the first person she’d noticed as she’d stepped off the transport into the bright new world that was the start of her future. As a second year cadet, Spock had been one of those assigned, as was the tradition of the Academy, to act as a mentor to a group of new recruits, Uhura among them. The two had gradually become closer, discovering that, despite their very different backgrounds, they had a lot in common. They were both fiercely intelligent and always eager to learn new things and expand their wealth of knowledge on a wide variety of topics. It was this that initially found them spending more and more time together. Spock coached Uhura in physics, the subject in which she was weakest, and she in return worked with him on linguistics, the Vulcan being more than competent but lacking the naturally skilled ear with which she was gifted.

Uhura smiled as she whiled away the waiting time thinking fondly back over the first months of their acquaintanceship. She had never intended to muddy the waters of her time at the Academy with a relationship. Uhura was bright, but not everything came easily to her. She had worked single-mindedly for years to get to where she wanted to be, eschewing all offers of an intimate nature while she dedicated herself to getting not just good enough grades, but the best grades, not just adequate test scores but the top test scores. 

Uhura’s family was loving and supportive but for the most part laidback and satisfied with their lot in life. She had always wanted more, and when she set herself a goal, she invariably reached it. Her proud parents had waved her goodbye when she left home with a still slightly bewildered look in their eyes that they had managed to produce such an inexplicably determined, ambitious daughter. She had always been secure in their love but she knew they didn’t understand her in the way they did her two siblings, who were perfectly happy to leave school and settle in what she viewed as mundane jobs in their hometown, with no intention of ever exploring other worlds, or even other parts of their own world.

Her relationship with Spock had evolved slowly over several months. At first it was simply time spent doing extra work but as they discovered a mutual love of music they began to go to the occasional concert. They each took great pleasure in introducing the other to different styles of music that they appreciated. Both played several different musical instruments and they started to practice together, working on their own arrangements of favourite compositions and eventually coming up with works of their own. She wasn’t sure when she had begun to think of him as more than just a friend, but she remembered clearly the evening when their relationship had changed.

They were in his quarters working on transposing a Strauss waltz into the style of the Vulcan composer T’Sen. She had been playing Spock’s lyre, while Spock had been on the keyboard she had brought from home which, while not quite a grand piano, did a pretty good imitation of one. It was not going well. The lyre was not as easy to play as it looked and she was still trying to master all its nuances, something that seemed to be beyond her on this particular evening, perhaps because she’d been up since 5am doing some final preparation for an exam she’d taken that afternoon. As she hit the wrong note for what seemed like the umpteenth time that evening, she groaned and reached over to put the lyre on Spock’s desk. “It’s no good,” she said, half seriously and half in joking frustration, “I just don’t have your magic touch.”

Spock, who was sitting on the edge of his bunk just across from her chair, raised an eyebrow. “I assure you there is nothing supernatural about the way I touch,” he said, his tone deadpan.

Uhura laughed as she drew her arm wearily across her eyes. “Oh, I bet that’s not true,” she said, the words coming out before she realised how suggestive they might sound. Spock’s eyes widened and Uhura brought her hand to her mouth. “I mean, um, sorry,” she said, laughing nervously, “that came out all wrong.”

Spock had given her a look shot through with curiosity, his head tilted on one side. “Nyota,” he said slowly, “may I ask you a personal query?” Uhura nodded warily, not entirely sure if she wanted to hear his next words. “I have noticed that you have recently appeared to be considering me with a regard that could indicate you wish more than friendship between us,” he continued, and she felt herself growing hot with embarrassment under his intense gaze. “Forgive me if I have erred in my assumption, but is this the case?”

Uhura shifted uncomfortably as she stared at the Vulcan. She did find him attractive, that much was true - the powerful combination of his towering intellect and exotic handsomeness with a hint of vulnerability and loneliness would be, in her opinion, hard for anyone to resist - but she had never expected him to pull her up on how she felt about him and she had never allowed herself to hope their relationship, knowing what she did about Vulcan privacy and emotional control, might go beyond the friendship they already shared. “If it is so,” Spock continued, rather more hurriedly than he would normally speak, “I would not be averse to exploring our relationship further,” he finished, then looked down at the hands folded neatly in his lap. “If that is also your wish,” he added, almost as an after thought. 

Uhura’s normal self-assuredness seemed to have deserted her as she tried to think of how to answer his question. Instead, she found herself simply staring at him, open-mouthed. Spock glanced up at her, catching her shocked expression and quickly looking down again. “I apologise,” he said. “I appear to have embarrassed you. We need not speak of this again.”

He was pulling away from her, drawing his Vulcan mask of implacability around him like a blanket keeping him safe from any emotional openness. He suddenly seemed so young, so alien and so completely alone. Uhura’s heart felt like it constricted in her chest and she got up and moved to sit next to him, reaching out to grasp his hand. He lifted his head to look at her and she slowly leant in to kiss him softly on the lips. “I wouldn’t be averse,” she whispered. 

Their relationship wasn’t perfect. Sometimes she caught him looking at her as if he did not quite realise why they were together and she wondered how much of himself he was holding back. She had thought about ending it but, somewhere along the line she had fallen in love with him. She hoped that given time, her feelings might be returned, that she might reach him deeply enough that he would open himself completely to her in a way she was aware he had not so far.

Standing in the arrivals hall, she pulled herself back to the present as she spotted a familiar figure walking towards her. Spock cut a distinct figure even in the crowd at the port. Dressed in his sober dark travelling clothes of pants, tunic and a short Vulcan-style cloak, he made his way across the room, stopping in front of her. She grinned widely and resisted the urge to hug him. Although he had gradually relaxed into her touch during their private love-making, he would not take kindly to such a display of emotion in public and she respected his feelings, always keeping a polite distance when they were not alone.

“Hey,” she said happily. “How was your vacation?”

Spock looked into the smiling face of the woman who had become the closest friend he had ever known and felt a deep shame. In the company of James Kirk, it had been far too easy to put out of his mind what this woman meant to him. It was as though the two of them had existed in a world of their own, a cocoon inside which no other considerations could reach. Now, however, faced with the way in which he had betrayed her, his guilt was all too human and it cut him far more deeply than he had thought possible. 

He did not want to be responsible for inflicting a hurt on her that she had done nothing to deserve, but he could see no way to avoid doing so. Even were he and Kirk never to see each other again - if one or other of them decided at the end of their allotted six months that they would not be together - his relationship with Uhura could not continue as it was. His interaction with Kirk had highlighted the deficiencies in his relationship with Uhura. He had never entered into an intimate relationship before. It had not occurred to him that there was something missing between them until he met Kirk but that would not make it easier to face what was to come. He would have to tell her what he had done, and as that thought fully hit home for the first time, he realised he didn’t have the slightest idea how to find the words.

~*~*~*~

Kirk bounded up the steps towards his New York apartment, feeling too keyed up to stand around even for the few moments it would take the lift to reach the top floor. He strode down the corridor and palmed the entry pad to his apartment, going in and unceremoniously slinging his luggage on the floor to one side of the door before moving across the room and flopping down on the couch. He closed his eyes momentarily, savouring the feeling of being home. 

After a few moments he cautiously opened one eye and looked around at the space he loved. The loft apartment, paid for by his stepfather’s firm, was top-notch, the best that money could buy. The open plan design was spacious, the décor the height of fashion and, even though he didn’t really care that much about fashion, the place had always proved to be a babe - and guy - magnet. He sighed as he gazed at it. He supposed that once Frank heard his news, he wasn’t going to be too keen on subsidising his stepson’s extortionate rent for much longer. He jumped to his feet again. Before he did anything else he needed a shower.

Barely 20 minutes later he was washed, changed and, running his fingers through his hair, heading back out of the apartment. If he was going to do this, he figured, better to get it over and done with as soon as possible.

 

It wasn’t far to the building housing what his stepfather liked to refer to as the ‘nerve centre’ of his business. Kirk went straight up to the top floor, the entire space of which housed Frank’s suite of offices. As he walked out of the elevator he looked around properly for the first time in years and got a sudden sense of deju vue as he recalled his emotions the first time Frank had brought him here to show off what his wealth could buy. The place was ridiculously large and ludicrously decorated. Frank’s taste hadn’t improved any by the addition of money. Somehow everything he bought managed to look cheap and fake, however much it had actually cost. 

Kirk walked up to a desk in the expanse of office that surrounded his stepfather‘s inner sanctuary, into which only the privileged few were allowed to venture. The immaculately dressed and perfectly coifed blonde woman sitting behind the desk looked up and broke into a wide smile. “Well, well, the prodigal returns,” she said.

Kirk smiled back. “Hardly prodigal,” he laughed. “You know me, Gloria, I always turn up eventually, and may I say you are looking particularly lovely today?”

Gloria rolled her eyes. She was happily married, not to mention 20 years older than him, and his boyish charm had been making her smile since before he even knew what flirting was. “You know that won’t work on me,” she said indulgently, “but you may say it if you have to.”

Kirk perched himself on the edge of her desk and lowered his voice. “What kind of a bastard is he being today?” he asked quietly.

Gloria looked thoughtful. “On a scale of one to ten?” she replied just as softly, slipping into their usual office routine as if he’d never been away. “I’d say a good 8.5,” she added, “edging towards a nine on a few choice occasions earlier this morning.” 

“Shit,” Kirk said, sighing.

Gloria looked curiously at him. “What’s up, bud?” she asked.

“Let’s just say I reckon I can get him up to a ten,” Kirk said, “quite possibly an all time record 12. You might wanna go get a coffee,” he added as he slid off the desk and squared up to the closed door that hid his stepfather’s office. “Wish me luck, babe,” he added.

Gloria glowered at the term and swiped at him with one perfectly manicured hand, which he dodged with practised ease. “And miss the show? You’re kidding, right?” Her smiled faded as Kirk walked towards the office and took a deep breath before hitting the buzzer on the office door. As it slid shut behind him, she frowned. Kirk had seemed as ill at ease as she’d ever seen him. She had an idea that this time he might actually be planning to stand up to Frank and although she thought it was about time, she couldn’t help worrying. She’d known Kirk since he was a boy and knew the sensitive, troubled kid he’d been was still in there, hidden under the carefully cultivated layers of devil may care charisma and laidback attitude.

Frank looked up from behind his desk as Kirk came into the room. “So you’re back then,” he said, without enthusiasm. Kirk looked at him and tried to feel something for the man who’d raised him almost single-handedly since he was eight. As it always did, the effort failed. All he could remember were the put-downs, the beatings, all the times this man had told him he was worthless despite the ways he’d tried so hard to win his approval.

“I’m leaving the company,” he said, getting the words out before he could have second thoughts, his heart hammering in his chest.

Frank looked up sharply and laughed. “Oh yeah?” he said. “Where’ve I heard that before?”

“This time I mean it.”

Frank leant back in his chair. “And where do you think you’re gonna go?” he said, disdain dripping from his lips. “You got nothing without me, kid.”

Kirk had heard those words so many times before but this time they made a hot rage rise in his chest, a rage he hadn’t felt since he was a child, since he started just soaking up the barbs thrown at him, deciding life would be easier if he just tried to please this man. Trouble was nothing he ever did pleased him. It never had and it never would. As he stared at him he remembered being ten-years-old, the day his brother ran away. He’d been washing Frank’s car, doing as he was told, when he’d been gripped by the same rage he felt now. Rage against Frank, against his mother, against Sam, even against his long-dead father. The car was his dad’s not Frank’s, but his stepfather acted like he owned it, the same way he acted like he owned him and Sam. Now he’d driven Sam away as he had their mother, and Jim was completely alone. He’d wanted to give into the rage, let it consume him. He wanted to get in that car and drive it off the nearest cliff, but he hadn’t. He’d closed down the anger and he’d hidden it deep inside. After that he’d refused to let anything touch him. If he didn’t let anyone close, he figured, then no one could ever hurt him again.

Frank smirked at him and folded his arms. “You haven’t got the balls, kiddo,” he said. “You never did.”

Kirk stared at him and it felt as if a pressure he hadn’t even been aware off fell away from him, as though he could see clearly for the first time in years. He walked up to the desk and rested his hands palm down on its shiny black surface, looking his stepfather right in his deep set piggy eyes. “Fuck you,” he said, putting all the resentment inside him into the two short words he’d wanted to say for years, before turning and walking out.

~*~*~*~

Kirk sat in a dingy room peopled by beings he was sure were mostly up to no good. His forearms rested on the bar, his hands wrapped around the bottle in front of him, several bags at his feet. 

As he’d walked down the street following his encounter with Frank, he’d felt freer than he could ever remember. It was as if a dead weight had been lifted from his shoulders. Finally he was standing on his own two feet, with no one to answer to. But the feeling was short-lived - his heart had sunk as he considered his next task. Facing up to Frank had been liberating, but Janice was a different matter.

Now he sat staring at the bottle of beer, his fourth so far. The buoyancy of earlier had long since been replaced by misery and now a slight bleariness from the alcohol he’d been steadily pouring down his throat. The look on Janice’s face as he’d told her as gently as he could that it was over was one he couldn’t get out of his mind. He knew that he didn’t love her in the way he thought he might love Spock, even after the short time they had spent together, but he had thought she loved him. He’d expected her to be upset but instead she had laughed at him. She looked at him as though he was something nasty she’d found on the bottom of her shoe, told him that if he was planning to make it on his own then she wasn’t going to stay around while he did it. He should be relieved, he knew, but it was just so depressing. He’d been stupid enough to think of marrying her when obviously she saw him as nothing more than a way to increase her already considerable fortune, or maybe as a trophy on her arm. How had he got things so wrong? Had he really been that blind, and what did that say about his judgement?

He was jolted out of his contemplation of his shortcomings by a shuffling noise next to him. He looked up to see a dark-haired man, maybe ten years or so older than him and wearing jeans and a brown jacket, slide onto the bar stool next to him. The man caught his eye and gave him a slight nod. Kirk gave a half smile back then returned to staring at his beer. “Bourbon,” he heard the newcomer say as the bartender came over to take his order. “I may throw up on you,” he added. There was a pause as Kirk looked around again and realised the barman had gone to fill the stranger’s drink order and no one else was around, so the guy must be talking to him.

“Huh?” he responded.

“I’ve already had a few more of these than is good for me,” the man elaborated as the bartender placed the whisky in front of him, “so you may wanna move now,” he added, in what Kirk placed as a southern accent. When Kirk stayed where he was, the man glanced around surreptitiously before reaching inside his jacket and pulling out a hip flask. He unscrewed the cap and quickly topped up his glass, then inclined the flask towards Kirk, who hesitated just for a moment before shrugging and reaching out towards it. He took a healthy slug and handed it back to its owner. The southerner tucked the bottle back into his inside pocket and fixed him with a disgruntled look that Kirk was sure he’d done nothing to deserve in their short acquaintanceship. “McCoy,” he said out of nowhere and Kirk stared at him, wondering for a moment what he was on about. “Leonard McCoy,” the man added. 

Kirk inwardly laughed at himself. His name - obviously it was the guy’s name. “Jim Kirk,” he said in response. McCoy gave a brief nod of acknowledgement then shifted on his stool, turning to look around the bar. Kirk followed his gaze, taking in their down-at-heel surroundings. Over in the corner an Andorian and an Orion were deep in conversation. As the two men at the bar watched, there was a quick exchange of a brown package for a white one before both beings turned and walked towards opposite exits, one at the front of the bar, one at the back. In another corner a Human couple were engaged in a blazing row that looked set to erupt into violence at any point, while in the centre of the room a group of beings from various worlds were attempting, if their loud conversation were anything to go by, to cheat each other out of small piles of credits placed haphazardly around a pool table. Kirk lit up a cigarette. It didn’t look to be the kind of place where anyone would object.

McCoy turned back towards the bar. “Great place,” he said sardonically. “Those’ll kill you, you know,” he added, nodding at the cigarette.

“No shit,” Kirk said. He’d come in here wanting nothing more than to drown his sorrows and the last thing he needed was an anti-smoking lecture.

The man shrugged. “Suit yourself,” he said and took a slug of his drink.

Kirk peered at him. He supposed it wouldn’t hurt to have someone to talk to, especially someone who looked about as miserable as he did. It might take his mind off his own problems. “So what’re you doing here if you think it’s such a dump?” he asked.

McCoy shrugged. “Nowhere else to go,” he said. “The ex-wife took the whole damn planet in the divorce.” He glared morosely into his drink. “All I’ve got left are my bones.”

“Hmmm,” Kirk said, looking down at the bags at his feet. “You and me both,” he added, and the pair of them sunk into silence, periodically taking a mouthful of their respective drinks. Kirk drained back the rest of his beer and motioned to the barman, who moved slowly over from the other end of the bar as if he really had better things to do. “Another one of these,” Kirk said, motioning towards the empty bottle, then pointed at McCoy’s glass, “and one of those for my friend here.” McCoy nodded his thanks as the drinks were placed in front of them and they lapsed into silence again.

McCoy eventually looked up. “So what happened to you then?” he asked, gesturing at the bags on the floor, and nearly knocking over his drink in the process. Kirk reached over to steady the glass and realised, as his new drinking buddy didn’t even noticed the near accident, that he was maybe drunker than he’d first thought. “Girlfriend kick you out?” McCoy continued.

“You could say that,” Kirk said. He didn’t really mean to say any more but the words kept coming. Maybe, some part of his brain thought, it was time to stop drinking. “I met someone else,” he heard himself saying. “I don’t even know if we can be together, but I told my fiancée it was over and now I have no girl, no guy, no home and nowhere to go.”

McCoy peered at him through the gloom of the bar, then reached out to clap him on the shoulder, nearly falling off his stool in the process. Kirk grabbed him as he lurched forward and noticed, despite the dim lighting, that he’d suddenly gone a rather alarming shade of green. McCoy looked at him with wide brown eyes. “I really might throw up on you,” he said, sounding quite surprised despite his earlier assertion to the same effect.

“Ok,” Kirk said, taking in the warning look from the barman, who he suddenly noticed was considerably larger than either of them, “let’s get you out of here, buddy.” He kept hold of McCoy awkwardly while he reached down and grabbed his bags with one hand then hauled him off the stool and towards the door. They got about halfway there when McCoy made an ominous sounding noise. “Shit,” Kirk said loudly, which only served to draw more attention their way just as McCoy made good on his promise and threw up. A fair portion of it did, as warned, land on Kirk, unfortunately the rest sprayed all over the feet of a large, scary looking being covered in shaggy brown hair and spiny purple protuberances. 

Kirk looked slowly from the alien’s vomit-splattered feet, up his tree trunk-like legs, over his knobbly knees and his large belly. It seemed as though time stood still as he just carried on looking up, slowly craning his head in order to see to the top of the mammoth being who was glaring at him with malevolent orange eyes. “Shit!” he said again. “Um, would it help if I offered to pay for the dry cleaning?” he offered hopefully, flashing his best smile. The hairy monster, who looked vaguely familiar but whose species he couldn’t quite place, let out a roar, revealing a jaw full of crammed full of terrible, rotting teeth before grabbing a pool cue off one of the people who’d been arguing over the game earlier. The erstwhile gambler opened his mouth as if to protest, then seemed to think better of it and dashed away towards the other side of the room. 

Kirk looked from the now slathering figure in front of him to McCoy and then back again. There was no way McCoy was going to be able to fight his own corner. Kirk shoved the southerner out of the way, barely registering where he landed under a nearby table. The hairy being raised the pool cue behind his head as though it were a javelin and Kirk, deciding attacking first might be his only chance, put his head down and charged. His head hit the being’s stomach - and bounced right off again. “Oh holy fuck,” he muttered. His eyes flicked around desperately and he spotted another of the pool players standing nearby, watching his predicament with an infuriating smirk. “Excuse me,” Kirk said, and grabbed the cue out of his hands. The alien was drawing his weapon back ready for a second attempt at an attack. At least he was slow, Kirk noted. He grabbed his own cue with two hands and looked straight at his opponent. He had no idea of his anatomy but he could give it his best shot. He grasped the cue tightly, pointed it vaguely in what he hoped was the right direction and ran full tilt at him. The cue hit the alien right between the legs and he let out a high-pitched shriek as he crashed over sideways, cradling his injured parts.

Kirk took his opportunity, throwing the cue aside and dashing over to the table where he’d left McCoy, who was staring up from underneath it, his eyes bleary and unfocussed. Kirk reached out and grabbed the man with one hand and his abandoned bags with the other. “Run!” he shouted as he hauled him out from under the table. The two headed for the door, Kirk dragging McCoy behind him.

Standing in a street that was just far enough away to be out of sight, but not far enough to make them completely safe, he looked around in despair. It was the perfect end to a perfect day, not only was he out of luck and out of somewhere to stay, now he had a semi-comatose complete stranger on his hands. McCoy had managed a rather disjointed sprint away from the bar but as soon as Kirk had stopped to get his bearings, he’d slumped against him, semi-conscious at best. Kirk sighed. He could hardly leave the guy to fend for himself in this state. He carefully lowered him until he was sprawled on the kerb, then sat down beside him. “Hey,” he said, “McCoy?” He put his hands on either side of the man’s face and shook it slightly. “Leonard?” he tried. McCoy stirred slightly and mumbled under his breath. The only word Kirk caught was ‘bones’. He groaned. “Sorry about this, buddy,” he muttered, then reached back and gave him a sharp slap around the face. “Hey, Bones!” he yelled at the top of his voice, prompting strange looks from a couple passing by.

“Wha?” McCoy murmured. He was still looking decidedly the worse for wear, but at least his eyes were open and he was looking vaguely in Kirk’s direction, even if he didn’t seem to be focussed on anything in particular. 

“Where do you live?” Kirk yelled at him. McCoy muttered something unintelligible. Kirk leant in closer. “Where?” he shouted right in his face.

McCoy drew himself up straighter, his face a picture of haughty affront. “124 Sycamore,” he said, as clear as day, before promptly collapsing again.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Kirk muttered. He got to his feet feeling none too steady himself and, getting his hands under McCoy’s arms, hauled him upwards. He stuck his arm awkwardly around him and half carried, half dragged him up the street until he found a cab station. Propping the dead weight of his new friend up against him, he pressed the cab call button, thanking all that was holy, or not so holy, that the taxi system in NY was automated. Any sentient driver would take one look at the pair of them and drive right past, and he wouldn’t blame them one bit.

 

~*~*~*~

Spock sat on his bunk and stared miserably at his boots, his hands tucked under his thighs as Uhura stared at him. “You did what?” she said for the second time, her tone no less disbelieving than it had been the first time. 

“I had sexual relations with another,” Spock repeated, also for the second time. A small part of his brain whispered that it was illogical to repeat a question when you had been given the answer perfectly clearly the first time, but a larger part of his brain squashed that response as completely inappropriate in the given situation. Yet another part of his mind berated him for even having thought such a thing when he was so far in the wrong that he could not even think of any words to excuse what he had done. “I regret that I have caused you pain,” he offered quietly.

Uhura glared furiously down at her lover from where she was standing in the middle of his quarters, her hands clenched at her sides. She was so angry she wanted to punch him. She couldn’t believe that Spock - Spock, of all people - would do something like this. “Who?” she demanded.

“His name is Jim,” Spock answered, still staring at the floor. “I met him on the Flying Dolphin.”

“Him?!” Uhura exclaimed, her mouth hanging open in shock as this second blow hit home. “Oh, Jesus Christ,” she said, angrily wiping away the tears she’d rather die than let fall. “You mean not only am I not enough for you, but you’ve decided you prefer men?!”

Spock looked up and met the full force of the hurt radiating from her entire body. “I am sorry,” he whispered, not knowing what else to say. He couldn’t think of an explanation that would do anything other than hurt her more than he already had.

Uhura choked back a sob, determined that he wouldn’t see her break down completely. “But I love you,” she said. It was the first time she had said those words to him and even as she said them she swore to herself that it would be the last. She wanted him to hear it before she left, wanted him to know how much he had hurt her, but she wouldn’t humiliate herself further by ever saying it again.

Spock momentarily closed his eyes and when he opened them he looked straight into Uhura’s. The very least he owed her now was honesty and he wanted her to know that he hadn’t betrayed her for any other reason than the one he had. “And I love him,” he said quietly, truthfully.

Uhura stared at him for a moment more before she turned on her heel and walked out of the room.

 

~*~*~*~

McCoy slowly opened his eyes, then immediately regretted it and closed them again. His head felt like two very angry miniature goblins were attempting to hack their way out from behind his eyeballs. With pickaxes. Very sharp, pointy pickaxes. He groaned and flung his arm across his eyes in an attempt to block out the sunlight that seemed to be mocking him with its ability to permeate through his eyelids. “Oh dear god,” he groaned.

“Feeling a bit delicate are we?” a cheery, but not entirely familiar, voice questioned. McCoy abruptly sat up on his bed, another move that was probably a mistake, he thought, as his stomach lurched alarmingly. Forcing his eyes open, he peered across the room, and a shape in the doorway gradually coalesced into that of a young man. McCoy silently stared at him, bits and pieces of the previous night beginning to come back to him.

“Jim, right?” he managed.

“Hey!” the younger man exclaimed. “Back in the land of the living!” He bounded across the room and plonked himself down in a chair near McCoy’s bed.  
“What are you doing here?” McCoy asked, confused.

Kirk laughed. “You pretty much made me sleep on your couch,” he said shrugging. “Besides, you owe me one,” he said, fixing McCoy with bright blue eyes.

McCoy squeezed the bridge of his nose to try to relieve the hammering in his head. Not surprisingly, it didn’t work. “How’s that?” he asked, his voice pained.

Kirk raised his eyebrows sardonically and held up his index finger. “One, I dragged you out of that godforsaken bar while you were still in one piece.” He held up his middle finger. “Two, I didn’t leave you in the street in a pool of your own vomit. Three, I carried you home and, four, I didn’t slug you when smooched up to my neck and called me ‘darlin’.” 

McCoy flashed him a sceptical look at the last one. “I did not,” he retorted.

“You did too,” Kirk insisted, grinning at him. “And five,” he added, throwing a mock cross-eyed glare at his hand as he ran out of fingers, “I crashed on the couch to make sure you didn’t throw up again and choke in your sleep or something.” 

McCoy frowned. More of the previous evening was coming back to him. “There was a fight,” he said slowly and Kirk nodded encouragingly. “Guy kinda looked like the Gruffalo,” McCoy added.

Kirk clicked his fingers gleefully. “That’s it,” he exclaimed. “I thought the dude looked familiar!”

McCoy ignored him as he racked his brains trying to piece together the fragments of memory. “You hit him in the balls with a pool cue,” he continued, “then you dragged me out of there…”

“…after you threw up on him,” Kirk finished his thought. “And me,” he added, looking down at his pants, despite the fact that he’d already washed and changed before coming in to check on McCoy.

“Oh, um, sorry,” McCoy said, rubbing his forehead. He swung his legs over the side of the bed, the movement making the pissed off goblins in his head bang even more furiously than they already were. “Pass me that bag over there,” he said, pointing to a black case sitting on a cabinet at the side of the room, near Kirk. The younger man reached around, picking up the bag and passing it over. McCoy opened it and took out a hypospray. He peered at the labels on a couple of vials in the bag before picking one out and loading up the hypo. He pressed it against his own arm and let out a sigh of relief as the medicine quickly worked its magic. Kirk stared at him for a moment then laughed. “You a doctor?” he asked, “or just a junkie?”

McCoy glared at him. “I’m a doctor,” he said gruffly, and Kirk laughed even harder. 

What’s so funny?” the newly revealed doctor demanded.

“I woulda thought a medic would know better than to chuck neat whisky down their throat the way you did last night,” Kirk answered through his laughter.

“Yeah, well,” said McCoy getting up from the bed and stretching out his aching limbs. “Bad day.”

Kirk clapped him on the arm. “Yeah, I know all about those,” he said. “Now, Bones, how about you buy me some breakfast, and we’ll call it quits?”

McCoy raised an eyebrow at the nickname but made no comment. “All right then,” he agreed, after all he supposed he did owe the kid one, probably more than one. “Just let me get cleaned up first. I feel like something died in my mouth.” He walked past Kirk and headed out through the bedroom door, towards the bathroom. “Help yourself to coffee,” he shouted as he walked past the couch that still bore the crumpled signs of having been slept on last night. He turned around at the bathroom door to see Kirk had followed him out of the bedroom. “Oh, and thanks,” he mumbled quickly, as he shut the door behind him.

“You’re welcome,” Kirk yelled at the closed door, then turned and headed into the kitchen, shaking his head. “See, wasn’t that difficult, was it?” he muttered.

When McCoy emerged, feeling slightly more human, Kirk was sitting on top of the kitchen counter, looking as though he owned the place. The younger man handed the doctor a mug of coffee. McCoy took a sip and looked curiously at Kirk. “You seem mighty chipper considering you had the weight of the world on your shoulders last night,” he commented.

Kirk shrugged. “No point dwelling on things you can’t change, is there?” he answered. “I’m not gonna let it get to me any more. Today is the start of my new life!” he finished with a flourish. 

“Okaay,” McCoy drawled, not quite sure how to take so much enthusiastic optimism first thing in the morning, and on an empty stomach. He set his coffee mug down on the kitchen counter. “How about we go get that breakfast?” he offered.

“Oh, I was only kidding before,” Kirk answered, jumping down from his perch on the counter. “You don’t really owe me anything.” He reached for the cigarette case in the pocket of his jeans and pulled out one of his smokes. “I’ll just head off and leave you to your hangover.”

McCoy reached out and plucked the cigarette out of his hands, flicking it neatly into a nearby garbage disposal unit. “Oh no you don’t,” he answered firmly as Kirk glared at him. “Never let it be said that Leonard McCoy, doesn’t repay his debts.” He slung his arm around Kirk’s shoulders. “Come on, kid, I’m buying you breakfast…and didn’t I tell you those things’ll kill you?”

 

~*~*~*~

**PART 2: January**

 

Uhura walked into the Academy rec room and immediately spotted Spock sitting alone at a table in a far corner of the room. She allowed her eyes to rest on him for a moment. He was eating a salad with what looked like minimal enthusiasm, although it was pretty hard to tell whether Spock was enthusiastic about something or not, while he regarded a 3D chess board set up in front of him.

She walked over to the replicators and punched in her lunch order, still glancing over at the Vulcan. In the four months since their break-up, she’d seen him in classes and she’d passed him in the hallways or spotted him in the Academy grounds so many times that she’d begun to think fate was conspiring against her. When she’d mentioned this to her roommate, who had far, far more dating experience than she herself, Gaila had laughed. 

“Such is life, sweetie-pea,” she’d said in her own unique style. “If you’re desperate to see a guy, you’ll never catch a glimpse, but if you’ve just been dumped, there he is around every corner - just to rub in what you’re missing.” 

Her words seemed surprisingly accurate, but lately when Uhura caught glimpses of Spock she found herself wondering how he was doing more often than she just wanted to punch his lights out. Every time she saw him he seemed, if it was possible, more morose and distracted than the last. She hadn’t seen any indication that he was seeing someone else, no evidence of this ‘Jim’ in his life. As her hurt began to fade she began to more clearly see the flaws that had always been under the surface of their relationship. She sometimes found herself wondering how he was - if he was happy and why he appeared to be alone. She looked back towards the table where he was sitting. He was still staring at the chess set, fork in hand, but he didn’t seem to be either playing the game or eating his lunch.

She reached into the replicator slot and picked up her tray of food. She took another glimpse at Spock and, just for a second, thought about joining him, before mentally kicking herself. It wasn’t her business any more. She set off determinedly towards a table where she’d spotted Gaila, surrounded as usual by a gaggle of friends. 

“Hi,” Gaila greeted her as she sat at the table. “I see your boyfriend’s over there,” she added and Uhura sighed. The Orion had many good qualities, but tact and diplomacy were never going to be numbered among them. 

“He’s not my boyfriend,” she said firmly, then smiled in greeting at the other occupants of the table, hoping Gaila would get the message and drop the subject of Spock. But unfortunately subtle hints were not really Gaila’s thing either. 

“Good thing too,” the Orion was saying. “You deserve better. Much, much better.” 

“Gaila,” Uhura said warningly. She’d always tried to keep her private life as private as was possible in a relatively small community like the Academy but that wasn’t made any easier by her roommate’s propensity to chatter away nineteen to the dozen about any and every topic without ever thinking about what she was saying before she started saying it. The talkative Orion now seemed to have forgotten in her indignation on her friend’s behalf that she had been expressly asked not to go blabbing about Uhura’s relationship with Spock, which they’d both seen as no one else’s business and had kept deliberately low key. Now all eyes at the table were looking around to try to see exactly who it was Gaila was referring to.

The Orion clapped her hand to her mouth in a gesture she had picked up from her Human classmates. “Fuck,” she said, swearing in any language being something else she’d rapidly taken to during her time at the Academy, “I wasn’t meant to say. Sorry!”

Uhura rolled her eyes. Gaila was very sweet in many ways but, honestly, you might as well confide in a gossip columnist armed with a loudspeaker. “It’s ok,” she said, flashing her another warning look. “It’s all over with and in the past.”

“Yes,” Gaila said, wrapping both arms around Uhura in a gesture of sisterly solidarity. “His pointy ass is grass,” she said with deep feeling, a tenuous grasp of the nuances of Human sayings being another of her little quirks. Despite herself, Uhura couldn’t help laughing as she returned the hug.

“You dated a Wulcan?!” an unfamiliar voice said loudly in a Russian accent, and Uhura jerked her head to look at the wide-eyed speaker, an unfamiliar young man who seemed to be little more than a child despite his cadet’s uniform.

“Shhh!” she said at the same time as a guy she vaguely recognised from her astrophysics class elbowed the youth as he hissed the same admonishment.

Too late, she looked up and saw Spock pause slightly as he passed their table on the way to place his empty tray at the recycling station. She half stretched an arm out towards him but he started walking again, not turning his head towards the voice he couldn’t have failed to hear. She turned back to glare at the unknown young man, who flushed beet-red.

“Pavel, for God’s sake,” his companion - Sulu, the name came to her - was saying.

“I am sorry,” the youth stuttered. “I didn’t realise…”

Uhura got to her feet. “It’s all right,” she said in the child’s direction, not caring if her tone was abrupt. Close up Spock had looked positively shaky, the expression on his face as distraught as she’d ever seen it. The reaction seemed out of all proportion to an overheard conversation. Now she was worried. Her mind racing, she abandoned her lunch and headed off after the Vulcan.

She spotted him halfway up the corridor, his long strides moving him quickly away from her. “Spock,” she called out, and she could see the hesitation in his stance before he stopped. He stayed completely still for a second before he turned to face her just as she caught up with him. He looked completely calm and she wondered if she’d imagined the distress of a moment before. “Can we talk?” she asked, not entirely sure what she planned to say. 

Spock looked momentarily uncertain but, polite as ever, slowly inclined his head. “If you wish it,” he answered, his voice devoid of even the minimal expression it generally had.

Uhura looked closely at him. “Your quarters or mine?” she asked, deciding it was best to just get to the point.

“Yours,” Spock answered quickly. He was not sure why Uhura would wish to speak to him, but he found he was not eager to revisit the scene of their last confrontation. 

They walked side by side in silence until they reached the Vulcan’s quarters. “Can I offer you some refreshment?” Spock asked once the door had slid shut behind them.

“No thanks,” Uhura said, deciding to just get out what she wanted to say and then leave. “Look Spock, what you heard back there…”

“You do not need to explain,” Spock interrupted before she could finish. “It is your prerogative to discuss any topic you wish with your friends.” He busied himself with fetching a glass of water so he would not have to meet her eyes. He knew that many Humans had an emotional need to talk about their intimate relationships with others. He was exceedingly uncomfortable that his name might feature in those conversations but he did not feel he had the right to ask that someone he had so wronged should desist from such discussions.

“Spock,” Uhura tried again. “I wasn’t talking about our relationship. I don’t talk about our relationship, it’s just that people speculate anyway. I don’t want you to think that I’m gossiping about you.”

Spock turned slowly to face her, his teeth worrying his lower lip in a way she hadn’t ever seen before. “You do not need to concern yourself,” he said. “You did nothing wrong.” 

He was speaking about more than the events of a few moments ago, and she knew it. She sat in heavily in a nearby chair. “Do you really love him?” she asked. It was a question that had been bothering her ever since the day they split up.

Spock looked at her warily. “I believe so,” he said.

Uhura felt a flash of anger. “You believe?!” she exclaimed.

Spock started at her tone. “I, I…am unsure,” he almost stuttered and Uhura stared at him. She had never heard him sound less than certain of himself. Even when he had been breaking up with her, he’d just come straight out and said what he had to say. It wasn’t in his nature to prevaricate, any more than it would have been in his nature to not tell her the truth of what had happened at the first opportunity, no matter how harsh it may have seemed. She watched as he moved to place a hand on his desk, almost as if he was propping himself up on it.

“Spock?” she questioned. “Are you all right?”

“I do not know,” he almost whispered.

Uhura frowned in concern. Part of her just wanted to get the hell out of there. He’d hurt her badly and if he was hurting as well, a little voice whispered, then it served him right. She told herself that she shouldn’t really care, but she did, and she found she couldn’t leave. “Spock,” she tried again. “What is it?”

The Vulcan stared at his hand on the desk. “Vulcans do not have ‘affairs’,” he said, so quietly she had to strain to hear the words. “I betrayed you,” he added, “and I acted in a manner that was most illogical.”

Uhura allowed herself a moment to feel affronted that she really couldn’t tell if it was the betrayal or the illogical behaviour that was bothering him the most. Then she sighed. She thought she understood what was going on here. One of the most difficult things about being in a relationship with Spock had been remembering that he wasn’t Human, that his reactions weren’t going to be the same and couldn’t be read in the same way. He might be a hybrid but he was raised to be Vulcan. He was complicated and he was sensitive, intense and sometimes just downright difficult, but the one thing he wasn’t and never would be, was Human. But in this instance he had acted like a Human. He had cheated and - despite his own doubts, she was sure of this - he’d done it because he’d fallen in love. 

“Spock,” she said carefully, wanting to be sure she said the right thing. “What you did hurt me so much.” He opened his mouth to respond but she held up her hand. “Let me finish,” she said, and he closed it again. “You hurt me, yes,” she started again, “and I won’t pretend I wasn’t angry, that I’m not still angry, but I know you wouldn’t have done something like that if you didn’t love this guy or if our relationship had been solid.” Spock stared at her in silence. “Look what I’m saying,” she continued, “is don’t throw away whatever it is you have with him because you feel guilty, or because it’s un-Vulcan, or whatever shit is going through your head.”

She got up from her seat and moved towards the door. There was a limit to how magnanimous in defeat a girl could be. “As it is, I’ll get over it,” she added, “but if you dumped me for someone else, then you don’t even try to make it work with him, then you’ll see what angry really is.” She turned as the door slid open. “Got it?” she demanded.

Spock inclined his head slightly, not sure what other response he could make, and Uhura nodded emphatically. “Right,” she said as she turned and marched out of the door.

She walked up the corridor shaking her head in disbelief. Had she really just told the ex-boyfriend she was still half in love with to go get his guy? So much for fighting your corner. “God,” she muttered to herself, “maybe you should just stick to linguistics, because you sure suck at relationships. ”

In his quarters, Spock walked slowly over to his bed and sat down. He knew Uhura was trying to assist him despite how she must feel, and he admired her more than she could know for that, but her words had not helped - could not help - to dissipate the turmoil in his mind. He felt as emotionally compromised as he once had as a child and he did not know what to do about it, did not even understand why he felt this way.

~*~*~*~

 

“Dammit, Jim,” McCoy exclaimed, undoubtedly heralding what Kirk had come to recognise as one of his more often-used expressions. “I’m a doctor not an art critic,” he added as expected.

Kirk grinned at him. “My work is for the masses,” he proclaimed. “I don’t want the opinion of critics, I want the opinion of normal people.” He paused. “But given the lack of those in my life, you’ll just have to do.” McCoy’s scowl deepened. “Y’know,” Kirk added, “you’ll get all wrinkly if you keep that up. Or wrinklier...”

“Piss off,” McCoy said grumpily as he picked up the nearest canvas. It was a street scene, the view from the apartment they were standing in, which Kirk had moved into two months previously. “All right,” he said. “Why can’t you paint something a bit more cheerful?” he said. “Flowers or something?”

“Flowers?” Kirk said incredulously. “What do you think I am, some soppy girl?”

McCoy put down the canvas he was holding and picked up another. It was a profile picture of a male Vulcan, his solemn expression tempered by a quizzically raised eyebrow and a twinkle of what almost looked like mischief in his eye. McCoy raised his own eyebrows as he looked from the painting to Kirk. “Ooh no, nothing soppy about you…” he said.

Kirk snatched the canvas from his hands. “Oh fuck off,” he said good-naturedly. “That’s the last time I ask for your opinion.”

McCoy raised his hands in exasperation. “Jim, I can get you a job at the hospital, I can even put up with you snoring on my sofa for weeks on end, but I don’t have the faintest idea when it comes to artwork.”

Kirk sighed. The doctor had been a life-saver since they met at the bar four months ago. He’d arranged for Jim to get work doing odd jobs around the hospital where he was employed, he’d offered up his couch for a few nights, which had then turned into a few weeks until Jim managed to find a cheap room in this place. The man might be a grouch, thought Kirk, but he was an unusually kindhearted grouch - or as the doctor himself might put it ‘a sucker for hard-luck cases’. However, sometimes he could be so self-deprecating that Kirk wanted to slug him. “Seriously,” he said. “I’d like to know what you think.”

“I think,” McCoy said, looking at the portrait of Spock again, “that you need to go get this Vulcan you’re so in love with, six-month deal or no six-month deal, because, honestly, if I hear one more time how gorgeous he is and how clever and how goddamn ‘awesome’, then I might have to throw up on you again.”

Kirk smiled down at the portrait. “He is pretty awesome,” he said. “You’ll see when you meet him.”

McCoy rolled his eyes at the expression on his friend’s face. “I’ve gotta get to work,” he said, “I’m doing some work on my xeno project after my shift, but I’ll drop in after that if you like and we can go get a beer.”

“Xenobiology?” Kirk questioned, and McCoy rolled his eyes.

“Yeah,” he said. “I’ve been working on it for months. I knew you weren’t listening!”

“Sorry, Bones,” Kirk said, his tone genuinely contrite. “I guess I’ve been kinda caught up in my painting.” He grinned engagingly. “Xenobiology, huh? I guess you’re not as stupid as you look!”

McCoy glared at him. “The words ‘pot’ and ‘kettle’ come to mind,” he said sardonically. “Anyway, I gotta go. See you tonight, yeah?”

“Yeah, sure thing, Bones,” Kirk replied as McCoy headed towards the door. He was already turning back to his paintings when he heard the doctor clear his throat. 

“Oh and Jim?” the medic said, sounding ill at ease. “If you really want to know what I think,” he continued, “then for what it’s worth, I think you have real talent, kid.” Having uttered the uncharacteristic compliment, he turned quickly and walked out the door, missing the delighted grin Kirk threw his way.

Kirk put the canvas down flat on a nearby table and turned to look at the others he’d been spending nearly all his spare time working on since he’d arrived in New York. The paparazzi had spent a little time tailing him when he’d first arrived, but once they figured they weren’t going to get pictures of anything much other than the once ‘inter-galactic playboy’ going to and from the hospital or sitting staring at an easel, they’d pretty much given up. He guessed he wasn’t really prime fodder for the gossip columns anymore. McCoy, not very encouragingly, had pointed out that they might come back to do a ‘look how the mighty have fallen’ piece if there was ever a particularly slow news day, but Kirk honestly couldn’t care less what they did. He never had deep down.

The little time he’d had when he wasn’t painting or at the hospital, he’d spent dragging examples of his work around to art dealers in the city. The response had been disheartening to say the least. Some had shown a flicker of interest, others had refused to even see him. The only thing that gave him a glimmer of hope were those that took the time to look at his work in detail. The feedback had been similar for each, that his work was skilled, if a little raw and untrained, but it needed more depth and warmth. They told him he needed to put what he felt into his paintings. He hadn’t known what they meant until he’d started working on the portrait of Spock.

He’d never attempted a portrait before, but Spock’s face was the first thing his mind conjured up when he awoke in the mornings and the last thing he saw when he went to sleep at night, and it was the image that haunted his dreams in between. Eventually he’d picked up the paintbrush and his hand had moved over the canvas as though of its own free will. The sharp planes and angles of Spock’s face grew out of the brushstrokes as if he was painting his mind’s eye into his work. It was the easiest painting he had ever done and when he finally took a step back and looked at it, for the first time he thought he knew what those art dealers meant. Spock looked back at him and it was almost as if were about to open his mouth and say something. After that it was as though a well inside him had been unblocked and, although he would never voice that thought to McCoy, as god only knows how much of a sap the doctor would think him then, he knew the work he had done since then was better. He hoped a lot better. 

He gathered up three of his favourite works - the view from the apartment, a nightscape of the Hudson that he’d just pulled an all-nighter to finish, and one of McCoy that he’d secretly taken some quick sketches for when he’d accidentally caught sight of the doctor one evening when he’d been finishing up some jobs at the hospital. He smiled fondly at the last one. To him, although he’d never say it, at least not seriously, it summed up the irascible but caring medic. The picture showed McCoy sitting at the bedside of a young girl he’d operated on that day. He’d been supposed to go off duty hours before and the girl was being monitored constantly as well as being conscientiously checked by the hospital’s nursing staff, but still, there was McCoy. He was fast asleep in a chair next to the bed, his face creased with concern even in his sleep, his medical bag still clutched in one hand as a nurse tiptoed around him. 

Kirk took a last look at the painting before placing it on the pile. Then he turned back to the portrait of Spock. He wanted to part with this one even less than he wanted to part with the one of McCoy. But he knew that they were probably the best work he’d done. He sighed and added the portrait to the pile. After all, he was doing this to prove to himself and to everyone else, his lover included, that he could make something of himself. If he had the real Spock, then he wouldn’t need an image. It was all very well for McCoy to say he should just go get the Vulcan, but he couldn’t do that, not until he made himself into someone worth getting. The need to prove himself had only got more intense in the time they’d been apart, and now he only had less than eight weeks in which to do it.

~*~*~*~

McCoy was bone tired when he left the hospital. He’d finished his shift several hours before but had then gone to the hospital’s laboratory facility to continue with the xenobiology project he’d been working on with several other doctors at the hospital. The project was not going well. They had the expertise and they certainly had the enthusiasm, giving up hours of their spare time at the end of what was back-breaking work at the best of times - the problem was funding. It was an endless source of frustration. 

The work they were doing was likely to be of benefit to a limited number of people - specifically Andorian/Human hybrids whose genetic make-up made them prone to a particularly debilitating condition not unlike sickle-cell anaemia - but the difference the medication they were working could make to those few was well worth it in McCoy’s eyes. Intellectually he understood why funding went to projects that would help the many rather than the few, but in his heart the suffering of those few was something he longed to fix no less than that of the masses. He sighed, he supposed that was why he was a doctor rather than a businessman or a politician.

 

He was regretting his promise to go out for a drink with Kirk but he hadn’t been able to reach him on the comm link when he’d called to say he was just going to head home. He briefly considered going straight home anyway, it wasn’t as if Kirk didn’t occasionally forget they were supposed to meet up or, more often, show up late, leaving McCoy sitting in bars feeling like a total idiot while people who assumed he’d been stood up shot him sympathetic looks. He sighed. He couldn’t do it. If he’d made an arrangement his sense of responsibility made it nigh on impossible for him to go back on it. Besides, there was a slight niggle of concern inside him. Kirk had been through a rough time of late, and if he’d had another round of rejections today he’d probably be feeling down. He put his head down and strode off in the direction of his friend’s apartment.

When he reached Kirk’s place he reached up and sounded the buzzer. There was a long pause before one of Kirk’s flatmates opened the door, wearing striped pyjama bottoms and nothing else, despite the fact that it was only 6pm, and also despite the fact that the apartment had an automated entry system and there was really no need to come to the door at all. McCoy took in his dishevelled appearance. After getting to know Kirk’s flatmates over the few months his friend had lived here, he knew it was as likely that this one was just getting up as it was that he was just going to bed. “Hey, Timmo,” he said. “Is Jim here?”

Timmo scratched his head in what, for him, passed for thoughtful. “Dunno man,” he said vaguely. “There was some banging from his room a while back, though,” he added helpfully, moving his scratching hand from his head to his ass. 

McCoy rolled his eyes. “So, that probably means he’s in then, doesn’t it?” he said patiently, speaking as though he was addressing a particularly slow-on-the-uptake five-year-old, which, to be fair, was not a bad comparison, although maybe rather insulting to the average small child.

Timmo let out a staccato laugh. “Oh huh, huh, yeah,” he said, punching McCoy on the arm. “Good one, Skeletor.” The doctor sighed. He wasn’t quite sure whether the guy really thought that was his nickname or if it was some odd sort of joke, but he could never really be bothered to ask him. Timmo stepped back out of the doorway and, for some unknown reason, bowed to usher McCoy in. “Enter good doctor,” he proclaimed loudly.

McCoy stepped past him. “Um, yeah, thanks,” he said, giving him a sideways look. He headed up the hallway towards Kirk’s room and stopped dead when the door failed to open as he approached it. That was strange. Despite the fact that he lived in a shared house and plenty of people were always coming and going, Kirk rarely locked his door. “I haven’t got anything worth taking, Bones, and if anyone is desperate enough to want something I’ve got, then they can just have it, ” was his standard answer when McCoy periodically questioned the wisdom of this approach. He knocked on the door. “Jim?” he shouted. “You in there?” 

When there was no answer he raised his hand and rapped n the door for a second time, then leant in so his ear was close to it. He heard a slight rustling from inside. “Jim!” he yelled again. “I know you’re in there. Open up, it’s me, McCoy.”

“I know who it is,” came the shouted answer.

“Well let me in, then!” McCoy shouted back.

“Leave me alone, Bones,” Kirk replied.

McCoy frowned. Something about this didn’t feel right. He banged on the door for a third time, this time with the side of a clenched fist. “I’m not going away until you open this door,” he yelled, getting angry now. “So you might as well save us both some time and get your sorry ass out here now.”

There was a pause, then he heard Kirk’s muttered, “sesame.” The door command was the legacy of a long-gone computer geek flatmate who, according to Timmo anyway, was serving time for hacking StarFleet command. The apartment also had a recycle unit that perkily proclaimed ‘well done for saving the world!’ when you chucked something in it, a refrigerator that ominously warned ‘you’ll get porky…’ when you opened it, and, perhaps most disturbingly, a toilet that let out a loud, satisfied burping sound when you pressed the flush.

As Kirk’s door opened, McCoy was hit by a wall of darkness and smoke. Coughing and waving his hand in front of his face, he walked in, worrying for his breathing as the door slid shut behind him. “I thought you’d given those things up?” he said gruffly, peering through the muggy atmosphere.

“I gave up giving up,” came the disconsolate reply from the direction of the bed. As his eyes began to adjust to the gloom, McCoy could just about make out Kirk. He was sitting on the floor, leaning back against the bed, a bottle of beer in one hand and what seemed to be the latest in a very long line of cigarettes in the other.

The doctor walked across the room and pulled up the blinds that were blocking out the last of the early evening light. He opened a window to let in some fresh air. 

Kirk winced as the sunlight streamed in. “Jeez, Bones,” he said. “Do you have to?”

McCoy didn’t answer as turned and got his first good look at the room. He turned slowly on the spot as he gazed around him in shock. There were paintings scattered all over the floor, each one ripped or defaced in some way. Smaller bits of what looked like coloured paper, but that he could only assume were canvasses that had got even rougher treatment, were strewn among them, fluttering in the breeze now coming in through the open window. “Oh my god, Jim,” he said, his eyes wide in horror. “What the hell have you done?”

~*~*~*~

Spock stood at the front of the classroom looking out at the eager faces of the first year cadets as he waited to see if any of them would be able to provide a hypothesis for solving the inter-dimensional problem he had just posed. He had been gratified to be asked to take an advanced level quantum mechanics class, a rare honour for someone who was still a student himself. The class he took at 3pm on Tuesdays and Thursdays was small - peopled by those who had applied, and been deemed able enough, to take the additional classes that would allow them to get extra credits and move along the fast stream to graduation. 

Although more than capable, as his tutors often pointed out, of entering the fast stream himself, Spock had deliberately chosen not to. He viewed his time at the Academy as a valuable opportunity to emerse himself in study of both an academic and a sociological nature, and saw no benefit in attempting to cut short his time there. Unlike many other species, perhaps because of their longer lifespans, Vulcans did not attach great significance to being ‘faster’ than everyone else. He also found teaching rewarding. When he mentioned this to his mother she had been delighted. “Perhaps there is something of me in you, after all,” she’d said, her smile widening when he’d given her one of his slight smiles back and answered that as half his DNA came from her it would be illogical to presume otherwise.

One of the cadets raised his hand. He was the youngest in the class by more than a few years, yet he had already shown a level of comprehension of the subject that Spock found impressive, even if his exuberance was sometimes rather more than the Vulcan deemed strictly necessary. “Yes, Mr. Chekov?” he said.

The young Russian began to speak, and Spock frowned. Chekov’s thick accent and the fast, enthusiastic way he spoke always meant that Spock had to listen carefully to follow what he was saying - then often provide a translation for the rest of the class. But this time the cadet’s voice seemed to be coming to him as if being filtered through a liquid of some sort. Spock strained to understand his words but found he could not make out what the young man was saying. He stared at him and was disturbed to find that the outline of the Human seemed blurred. Spock blinked rapidly. His vision appeared to be impaired as well as his hearing. He felt himself sway slightly and put his hand on his desk to steady himself. He became gradually aware that that Chekov had stopped talking and, along with the rest of the class, was staring at him with wide eyes.

“I…” he began, than closed his mouth as a wave of nausea washed over him. He struggled to control his body. He would not collapse in front of a roomful of students. It would be too humiliating. “I..” he started again, then with immense effort straighted himself to his full height. “Class dismissed,” he managed to choke out, then headed towards the doorway with a only a single thought on his mind - to get out of the room and away from their curious eyes.

Chekov jumped to his feet and moved towards the Vulcan teacher who, despite being one of the most intimidating beings he had ever met was also the one he most admired and longed to emulate. He reached out towards him and touched his arm. “Meester Spock?” he questioned.

Spock pulled his arm away as the cadet touched him. The Human’s unrestrained emotions washed over him, almost shattering what control he had left over himself. “Are you all vight?” Chekov was asking. Spock ignored him and kept moving towards the door, one step at a time. His shields were not in place and he could not seem to raise them again. The concern radiating from his class battered against him, like a million tiny swords jabbing into his mind, the jumble of alien thoughts making the clarity of his own impossible. He reached the door and stumbled into the corridor, barely aware of the cadets he had left behind, nost of them now standing, or at least craning their necks from where they sat at their desks, to watch him as he left.

Chekov stood motionless for several minutes after the door shut behind the Vulcan. “Bozhe Moi,” he whispered in his native language before setting off at a run towards the door. He raced through it as it opened and hurtled off down the corridor. 

Sulu and Uhura looked up from where they were sitting at a terminal in the library as their young Russian friend barrelled into the room at full tilt, prompting some disapproving tutting from the librarians. He came to an abrupt halt in front of them, panting as though he’d run the entire length of the large building, which in fact he had. “Pavel?” Sulu questioned. “What is it?”

Chekov panted, trying desperately to gulp back enough breath to allow him to speak. “Meester Spock,” he finally managed to force out. “I zink he ees ill…left class.”

Uhura looked at him in alarm. Despite Gaila’s theory, she’d not seen much of the Vulcan since their conversation a few weeks previously. “What do you mean?” she demanded, concern making her voice sharp.

Sulu threw her a look at the tone. She hadn’t mentioned the Vulcan at all in the time since that day in the mess hall and he’d hoped she was over him, but the worry written all over her face said otherwise.

“He valked out of class,” Chekov was saying, now less out of breath. “He vas looking..” he paused, groping for the right word, “peaky,” he said, “upset.”

Uhura jumped to her feet. She turned briefly towards Sulu. “Sorry, Hikaru,” she said, her mind obviously elsewhere. “I’d better go check on him.”

Sulu gazed after her as she rushed out of the room without so much as a backward look, more baleful stares from the librarians being thrown after her. He glared up at Chekov. “Thanks a lot, Pavel,” he muttered.

Chekov looked at him in consternation. “Vot?” he said, sitting in the chair Uhura had just vacated. “Vot did I do?”

After his escape from the classroom, Spock made his way blindly to the nearest lift and raised a shaking hand to press the button that would take him to cadet quarters. He needed to be away from prying eyes. As the lift door closed he allowed himself to lean back against the wall, and shut his eyes. Away from the cadets, he was bombarded with fewer emotions but one still remained, stronger than all the echoes from the beings in his class. It was a hollow despair for which he could identify no source. It permeated deep into his mind and made him want to crumple to the floor and howl. He clenched his fists at his side and took a deep breath. “Two,” he said. “Four.” He squeezed his eyes shut, forcing his brain to concentrate on the simple mantra that he had often used to try to regain emotional control as a child. “Six,” he forced out as the lift doors opened to a mercifully empty corridor. He moved as if in a trance towards his quarters and stepped inside as the door opened, falling to his knees and pressing his hands to his face as soon as it slid shut behind him.

 

~*~*~*~

McCoy stared at Kirk, waiting for an explanation for why he seemed to have destroyed the work he had put so much time and energy into. When the younger man just continued to stare into his beer bottle, the doctor moved over and crouched beside him. He reached out and touched his arm. “Jim?” he said, concern running through his voice.

Kirk pressed the bottle in his hand to his forehead. “Don’t, Bones,” he said. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

McCoy frowned. “I don’t give a shit if you want to talk about it or not,” he replied. “Did you do this?” he added, gesturing with his arm to indicate the ruined paintings scattered over the floor. Somewhere inside there was a glimmer of hope that maybe some intruder had perpetrated such wanton destruction, but he knew that wasn’t really true, he just didn’t want to think about what it might mean about Kirk’s psyche if he had done something so damaging to himself.

“What if I did?” Kirk spat, the words confirming the doctor’s fears. “They’re my paintings. I can do what I want with them.”

McCoy rocked back on his heels as he regarded his friend. The young man’s temperament was mercurial, certainly, but in a way that was endearing and often inspirational, if occasionally irritating as hall and often hard to keep up with. It certainly wasn’t anything that had ever rung alarm bells for the doctor, not in the way that this did. This man was far from the cocky guy who’d faced up to a being twice his size on the first night they met, far from the confident kid who’d proclaimed he was starting a new life the following day. McCoy barely recognised him and he wondered if there had been warning signs that he’d somehow missed.

“Why?” he asked quietly.

Kirk looked over at him, the pain obvious in his eyes. “Because they aren’t any good!” he shouted, then jumped to his feet. McCoy watched as he walked over to the window, nervous tension radiating from his body. “I was stupid to think I could do this,” Kirk muttered bitterly, “stupid to think I could ever be good enough.”

McCoy gazed at him and slowly got to his feet. He walked over and took hold of Kirk’s shoulders, turning him so they were facing each other. “Good enough for him, you mean?” he said softly, not sure himself if he meant George Kirk, Spock, or both. Kirk shook him off and turned his back.

“Get out of here, McCoy,” he said, the tone resigned rather than angry.

The doctor stared at Kirk’s back. “Jim...” he began.

Kirk turned around and gave him a weary smile. “Really, Bones,” he said, “I’m all right. I just need some time to think, maybe get some sleep, ok?”

McCoy looked at him doubtfully. He didn’t want to leave him like this but he could see that the younger man wasn’t going to talk and pressing him into something he didn’t want to do was as likely to be counterproductive as it was to be any sort of help. “All right,” he said reluctantly, turning towards the door, “I’ll go, but I’m coming back tomorrow morning. You get some sleep, you hear? Doctor’s orders.” 

As he moved to leave the room he spotted something he hadn’t noticed before. There were two canvasses propped up against the wall, the only two that appeared to have escaped Kirk’s destructive rampage. One was the portrait of the Vulcan he was so enamoured of, the other was of McCoy himself. The doctor stared at it for a moment. The broad brushstrokes had, even to his own untrained eye, captured the scene perfectly. He couldn’t say when it had been done, bedside vigils being pretty much a part of his life, but the quality of the work shone out from it, as did the fondness with which it had been painted. He turned back towards Kirk, gesturing towards the painting as he did so. “Thank you,” he said quietly before continuing towards the door.

As the doctor stepped into the hallway, he caught a movement in the corner of his eye. He turned to see Timmo through the doorway of the communal lounge, still in his stripey pyjama bottoms. As McCoy looked, the guy turned towards him and punched his fist up towards the ceiling. “I have the power!” he proclaimed mysteriously. McCoy gazed at him for a second longer then turned towards the exit without saying a word. Out in the street, he looked behind him at the door. There was something he was missing, something about Kirk’s behaviour, but he was too tired to think straight right now. He trudged back up the street towards home.

Back in his apartment, Kirk walked over to the bed and threw himself face down onto the mattress. He suddenly felt completely spent, the all-nighter he’d pulled to finish the nightscape and the emotional turmoil of the day that had followed catching up with him. The words of the art critics who had rejected the works that he had really thought were the best he could do echoed around his mind as he buried his face in the pillows on his bed. All of them had said no, all but one who had said she would think about it and call - just a nicer way of saying no.

 

~*~*~*~

Uhura stood outside the door to Spock’s room, unsure what she was going to say now that she was there. As she considered this, the door slid open, and the Vulcan stood there, gazing impassively at her. “Yes?” he said.

“Um, I just wanted to check you were ok?” Uhura said, slightly fazed by the fact that the Vulcan looked perfectly fine, far from the picture Chekov had painted of his distress when he had left his class.

“I was momentarily unwell,” Spock answered, “but I am now fully recovered.”

Uhura stared at him, looking for signs he was covering something up. Spock merely raised an eyebrow in response. “Although I thank you for your concern,” he added, “I have an appointment.” He stepped out into the hallway and nodded at her. “Good day,” he said and walked off, leaving Uhura gazing after him, completely nonplussed.  
She frowned as a thought occurred to her. “Hang on,” she said to herself, as if addressing the now departed Vulcan. “How can you have an appointment when you’re still supposed to be in class?”

Spock walked down the corridor, thankful to have escaped Uhura’s concerned gaze. He thought he had successfully masked his lamentable failure to re-establish complete control over himself. The anguish he had felt in front of his quantum mechanics class had largely faded as soon as he returned to his quarters, the physical symptoms diminishing along with it, but the after effects still lingered. He required meditation but he had not wanted to remain in his quarters, where Uhura would doubtless have demanded entry, and he had determined that feigning an appointment was the most efficacious way to excuse his hasty departure. He would leave consideration of the implications of the fact that he now appeared to have added lying to the apparently ever-growing list of his too-Human foibles until later.

He made his way to the gymnasium. A private workout room was one of the few places other than his quarters where he could obtain the privacy he required to meditate. He locked the door behind him and sat cross-legged on the floor, momentarily wishing he had his asenoi to help concentrate his mind before dismissing such a wish as illogical since it was futile to want something that could not be.

He attempted to order the thoughts that were still out of kilter from the sudden bombardment of alien emotions, but the image of James Kirk came immediately to his mind. It was unsurprising. The Human had been occupying a disproportionately large proportion of his mind since they had parted company. Spock squeezed his eyes shut as he attempted to concentrate. It had been many days since he had managed to meditate, consideration of his own shortcomings distracting him nearly as often as thoughts of Kirk. It seemed as if he was once again destined to fail in his efforts. 

He had hoped the six months he was away from Kirk would help him to establish if it was truly the right course to commit himself to the Human, but the six months was nearly up and he was no closer to reaching a conclusion. There was no denying the physical attraction he felt to Kirk, but he was Vulcan. The choice he made of a life partner, and he was unsure if Kirk even regarded their future as a longterm proposition, should be a logical one. It was the Vulcan way. His parents had chosen not to betroth him to another as a child but if they had then they would have chosen someone who was compatible with him, and they would have chosen a female with whom he could produce offspring. 

For the first time Spock thought that it might have been easier had his parents chosen to link him to another at the age of seven, then he would never have been faced with the dilemma he now saw in front of him. He wanted Kirk, there was no doubt of that, but was that enough to allow them to form a bond if they so desired? He did not know. Before he met Kirk he had assumed that when he and another chose to bind their lives together then the choice would be one dictated by logic. Uhura was a logical choice. They were compatible - of similar natures and with similar interests. They would most likely be able to have children. He had considered it probable that, in time, they would bond, yet he had so easily betrayed her. If he turned to Kirk would he also betray him? A bonded Vulcan would not be capable of such an act but was there something in his hybrid nature that made such an eventuality inevitable? The conclusion was inescapable. The source of his conflict was his own nature - neither Human nor Vulcan, and there was no comparable frame of reference against which to measure his present, or possible future, actions.

~*~*~*~

McCoy woke up early after what had been a restless night. He had not been able to get to sleep despite his exhaustion, thoughts of Jim Kirk kept racing around in his mind. He had finally drifted off in the early hours, only to find himself awake again what seemed like minutes later. He forced open one eye to look at the chronometer on cabinet by his bedside. He sighed when he realised it was just 6am. Abandoning any hope of getting back to sleep he swung his legs out of the bed and headed for the shower. As he washed he thought some more about Kirk. The blasted kid had him worried stupid.

The trouble was he hadn’t known Kirk long enough to guage if yesterday’s display had been a one-off expression of frustration, albeit a destructive one, or if the problem went deeper. He knew trouble when he saw it, but without knowing any of Kirk’s medical background he had no idea if it was a temporary aberation or part of a worrying pattern of behaviour that could indicate some sort of emotional instability. On the plus side, he hadn’t seen any other indicators that caused him concern, but he couldn’t be sure if that was just due to the fact that he’d only known him a few months.

As he towelled himself off, the doctor had an idea. Kirk was estranged from most of his immediate family but he had spoken fondly of his paternal grandmother as someone he was close to, someone he had spent happy holidays with as a child. Thanking his lucky stars that Kirk referred to his grandmother by name and that he had talked of her home and its whereabouts several times, McCoy quickly got dressed and headed straight for his desk, sitting down in front of the computer terminal. A long-range transmission was going to cost him a small fortune that he really couldn’t afford in his current ‘recently taken to the cleaners at the divorce courts’ position, but it would be worth it if it allowed him to fit together even a few of the missing pieces of the puzzle.

After checking it was a decent hour of the day on the New Virgina colony, he placed a request for an inter-planetary call and waited impatiently for the system to come online. After a few seconds of silence an automated voice informed him that his call was ‘important to the galactic exchange network’ and would be ‘connected as soon as possible’. McCoy rolled his eyes. At least they weren’t playing that god-awful tinned music, he thought…just as muted strains of the Blue Danube began to sound from the terminal. He leant back in his seat and groaned. “Angels and ministers of mercy, defend us all,” he muttered, then frowned. That wasn’t quite right, he thought. The terminal bleeped, interrupting his moment of faulty Shakespeare-induced distraction. The face of a rather frail looking elderly woman filled the screen, worry etched in the lines around her mouth and the clear blue eyes that belied her obvious age.

“Ma’am,” he said in greeting, immediately regretting being the one who had obviously prompted the worry in her face. “I’m so sorry to bother you.”

The woman frowned, curiosity replacing the worry as she took in the unfamiliar countenance of the medic. “May I ask who’s calling?” she inquired politely. 

“My name’s Leonard McCoy,” the doctor answered. “Are you Emmie Kirk?”

“I am,” she said. “Should I know you Mr. McCoy? I admit my memory sometimes isn’t what it used to be.” 

McCoy smiled. If what Kirk had said was anything to go by then his grandmother was as sharp as a tack. “No, ma’am,” he said. “I’m a friend of your grandson…Jim,” he added, belatedly remembering that Kirk had a brother somewhere. The worry was immediately back on the woman’s face and McCoy quickly continued. “It’s nothing to concern yourself about,” he said in his well-practiced reassuring voice. “I just have a few questions that I hoped you wouldn’t mind answering.” 

Mrs. Kirk regarded him suspiciously, her fears obviously not completely assuaged. “Don’t lie to me young man,” she said sharply. “I may be old but I’m not a fool. What’s wrong with Jimmy?”

McCoy looked at her and made a decision. “I’m not sure,” he admitted. 

The old woman stared at him for a long moment, then sighed. “You’d better tell me what happened,” she said.

McCoy outlined what he had seen the previous evening along with a few relevant facts about Kirk’s artistic endeavours to date, Mrs. Kirk occasionally interrupting to ask for more detail. When he’d finished she was silent for so long that he began to think she might never respond. 

“Where’s his young man in all this?” she finally asked. McCoy was slightly taken aback. Kirk had never said that his grandmother knew about the existence of Spock in his life, but his instinct told him that it must be the Vulcan to whom she referred. “Sarek’s boy,” she elaborated, leaving McCoy in no further doubt who she was talking about but even more taken aback. Kirk had never once, in all his talk of the Vulcan, seen fit to mention that he was the son of that world’s ambassador to Earth and therefore family to T’Pau herself, a link that made him practically royalty in Vulcan terms. 

“He’s at the Academy,” he answered, not wanting to intrude into Kirk’s private life any more than was necessary to try to find the answers he was looking for.

Mrs. Kirk frowned at that. “He’s not with Jimmy?” she said, sounding surprised. “But I thought…” she paused, her frown deepening, “maybe I was wrong,” she finished.

McCoy shook his head. “It’s complicated,” he said, “but I think you were probably right. It just may take them a while to sort themselves out.”

The face on the screen rearranged itself into a fond-looking understanding. “Young love,” she said. “It’s never as easy when you’re going through it as it seems by the time you get to my age.” She seemed to be lost in her thoughts for a moment and McCoy coughed politely to regain her attention. She focussed on him again. “I’m sorry,” she said. “Old age,” she added by way of explanation. “You wanted to ask me something?”

The doctor frowned. Kirk’s grandmother seemed vaguer than his friend’s description of her had led him to believe she would be, but then, he supposed, most of the times Kirk had mentioned her, he’d been talking about things that had happened a long time ago. It wasn’t abnormal for someone of her age to lose the thread of a conversation in the way she seemed to have. “About Jim destroying his paintings…” he gently prompted her.

“Oh, yes,” she said, concern back in her eyes. “It isn’t the first time,” she added, and McCoy’s heart sank. “But,” she continued, “you say he just ripped them all apart?”

“Yes,” McCoy confirmed leaning in closer to the screen.

“That isn’t like Jimmy,” she said firmly. “He’s a perfectionist like his father, he always has been. If he thinks his work isn’t good enough he will certainly destroy it, but not in the way you say he did, not losing control like that.” She thought for a moment. “Did he damage all of them?” she asked.

McCoy shook his head. “He left two untouched, one of Spock and one of me.”

Mrs. Kirk leant back in her chair and gave a slight smile, for some reason seeming reassured by his reply. “There’s your answer then,” she said. McCoy opened his mouth to question her further, not understanding what she meant, but she raised a hand to stop him. “Doctor,” she said, “I’m an old woman and I need to rest. Jimmy has good friends around him and I’m sure things will work out as they should. They usually do.”

McCoy recognised a dismissal when he heard one. He bade her farewell and was lifting his hand to cut off the connection when a thought suddenly occurred to him. “Wait a minute,” he said. “How did you know I’m a doctor? I’m sure I didn’t…”

The old woman cut him off again. “It’s in your eyes,” she said, smiling warmly. “Try not to worry so much,” she added, then suddenly she was gone.

McCoy leant back in his seat and stared at the blank screen, not really sure if he was any further forward or not.

On New Virginia, Emmie Kirk thought for a moment, then moved to place a call to an old contact on Earth. After a short conversation, she slowly rose from the seat at her computer terminal, wincing slightly as she straightened. She walked slowly over to her favourite armchair and lowered herself into it, pulling the blanket she’d left on the arm of the chair over her legs. She felt the cold so much more now than she ever had before. It seemed as if nothing could get rid of the chill these days. She closed her eyes. Lately it had seemed such an effort to go to her bed; the chair was far more comfortable. She nestled in under the blanket, a contented smile playing around her lips as sleep reached up to take her in its arms.

 

~*~*~*~

**PART 3: March**

Jim Kirk studied his reflection in the mirror. It hardly seemed possible that it could be six months since he had done the same thing on board the Flying Dolphin. A lot could happen in six months, he thought, as he stared at a face that, this time, didn’t grin back at him. His face was thinner than it had been then, and there were large black circles under his eyes - the legacy of night after night of sleep disturbed by dreams that he could never seem to fully remember in the mornings. He felt sick with nerves, sick with the possibilities that this day might bring.

It felt like he’d been functioning on autopilot for the past four weeks, since the night when he’d ripped up his paintings. McCoy had been hovering around him like an over-anxious mother hen, but Kirk had let all the doctor’s fussing wash over him as March 26 drew closer and closer. Even the call that had unexpectedly come from the art dealer he hadn’t believed would get back to him had failed to make a dent in the barrier he’d put up around himself. He’d watched without emotion as McCoy had picked up the two paintings he’d left in one piece and carted them off to the dealer’s gallery. He couldn’t bring himself to care any more, much less make the effort to drag them down there himself. He’d thought he needed to be a success, but now he felt strangely apathetic about the whole thing. It seemed like his whole life had boiled down to one time, one place, and that was all he could focus on. He took a deep breath and turned away from the mirror. It was time. 

Spock stepped off the platform of the shuttle into the chaos of JFK airport. The noise of the crowd immediately closed in around him. He was still not sure if he should even be here, but his need to see Kirk had won out, even against every objection logic could offer. He didn’t know if he could offer Kirk what he needed and he didn’t know if the Human would be willing to be the mate he required, but he knew he had to find out, whatever the outcome might be. The last few weeks had tested his controls to the limit. The only way he found he could be sure of functioning without a repeat of the incident in front of his quantum mechanics class had been to shut down completely. He had drawn his shields as tight as he possibly could, letting no emotion in, and not even the slightest hint out. He had never been so Vulcan, and it took all his energy, all his concentration. The only time he couldn’t completely control was when he slept, when nightmares of an indeterminate nature seemed to hover just at the corner of his mind, casting long shadows that he could neither firmly grasp nor drive away.

Kirk got out of the taxi on the corner of Fifth Avenue and West 34th Street and stood on the sidewalk, gazing up at the Empire State Building in awe. He’d been to many fabulous places in his time but this building took him back to when he was a small child. He’d come here with his mother and brother, one of the few trips the three of them had taken together, without his step dad. It wasn’t long before his mother had taken off back into space. Pushing aside the memories that were suddenly jostling for space in his brain, he walked into the building, carried along in a throng of tourists. He checked his watch. He was a little early, as he’d planned to be. He figured Spock would probably be the type who would arrive exactly on time - to the nanosecond - and he didn’t want to chance their long-awaited meeting being on the sidewalk. 

In the elevator he found himself squashed between a middle-aged couple who appeared to be in the middle of some argument about where they were going to eat once they’d got seeing the Empire State out of the way. They didn’t seem remotely bothered that they were each bickering into one of his ears rather than each other’s, and he hurriedly pushed his way out away from the noise as soon as the doors opened onto the observatory. He made his way over to the side and looked out over the city and a memory suddenly pushed its way though, something he hadn‘t thought of in years, hadn’t even realised he remembered. He could see and feel it almost as if it was happening right now. His mom was holding him up so he could see over the railings, laughing that he’d gotten so heavy. “Look, Jim,” she said. “It’s the whole world!” It was probably the last time he’d ever fully believed something she told him - just an hour or so later she’d told him and Sam that she was going back into space, and his whole world had felt like it was ending. The memory took his breath away and suddenly he felt dizzy. He put his hands out to steady himself against the barrier in front of him.

Down on the sidewalk, Spock got out of a cab and walked towards the entrance of the towering skyscraper. He didn’t look up or around him, just kept his head down and walked forwards. He was almost there when a sharp pain ripped through his head, making him gasp out loud. He reached out as if to steady himself, but there was nothing there to hold on to. His last conscious thought was that the ground seemed to be inexplicably rising up towards him. Then there was nothing but darkness.

~*~*~*~

Droplets of moisture splattered against his forehead and Kirk opened his eyes to see the rain blowing in around him. The wave of dizziness seemed to have passed and he drew his jacket tighter around himself and cautiously let go of the barrier in front of him. He looked around and decided to go wait in a spot where he could see the elevator as it opened. The March wind was bitterly cold, but at least it and the rain were having the effect of dissipating some of the crowd. He found a spot almost directly opposite the lift and leant back against a pillar. It wasn’t particularly sheltered but it was the perfect vantage point from which to see Spock’s arrival. Nerves twisted his stomach in knots. 

Two hours later the nerves that had made him jump with anticipation every time the lift door slid open had settled into a dull ache deep in his gut. He slid to the floor and sat with his back propped up against the pillar, his eyes still drawn to stare every time another group of people arrived. Each time the Vulcan wasn’t there the glimmer of hope inside him faded a little more, until it was barely there. He knew that if Spock had been coming then he would have been on time. He knew it, but still he remained in his spot. He stayed as the tourists of the daytime gave way to the romantic lovers of the evening, watching dully as couple after couple giggled and cuddled as they looked out over the bright lights of the city. When the lift was due to go down for the final time in the early hours of the morning he stepped inside. He was freezing cold and soaked through. He ignored the strange looks he got from the young lovers who were his travelling companions on the way down to the ground floor, concentrating on trying to still the shivering that threatened to take over his body. Once on the sidewalk he shoved his hands deep in the pockets of his jacket and set off for home, not caring how far it was or that the cold icy rain felt like it had permeated his very bones.

By the time he got back to his apartment the combination of his soaking clothes and the sweat he had worked up while he was walking had made him feel shaky and feverish, but the walk had also served to exhaust him and that suited him just fine. All he wanted to do was to fall into sleep and forget, if only for a little while. He palmed the entry pad and walked into the hallway, making his way to his bedroom. When the door opened it revealed McCoy, slumped in the only vaguely comfortable chair in the place. The doctor stirred as he entered and kicked off his boots. He was pulling off his sodden jacket when the doctor opened his eyes and looked up at him. “Don’t say anything,” he warned. He didn’t think he could bear any sympathy right now.

McCoy got up and walked over to him, reaching out to touch his shoulder and opening his mouth to speak. Kirk angrily shrugged him off. “I said…” he began.

“Jim,” the doctor interrupted forcefully, and Kirk stared at him. “It’s your grandmother,” the medic added gently, his eyes full of compassion.

 

~*~*~*~

 

Spock gradually became aware both of a thudding in his head and of a rather objectionable antiseptic smell that indicated that he was in all probability in a medical facility of some kind. There was also someone holding his hand. He opened his eyes just a crack and slowly turned his head towards the hand-holder.

“Hi,” a female voice said. “Do you want some water?”

Spock inclined his head slightly in a nod, then wished he hadn’t as a sharp stab of pain cut through his skull.

“Easy,” Uhura said, slipping her hand under the back of his head to lift it slightly and holding a glass of water to his lips. He gulped it back eagerly. He was very thirsty and his lips were parched.

“How long?” he managed once his thirst had been quenched. 

“Nearly a week,” she answered. “You’re back in San Francisco.”

Spock’s head fell back against the soft pillow. A week? “Jim,” he whispered as the darkness rose up to grasp him once more.

When he came back to consciousness for the second time the pain in his head had reduced to the constant background noise that he had got used to over the past few months. There was still a hand in his own. “Nyota?” he questioned.

“No, it’s me,” a familiar voice said. 

With some effort, Spock managed to force his eyes open. For some reason his eyelids seemed a great deal heavier than they normally did. “Mother?” he said, his tone questioning.

Amanda smiled at him and squeezed his hand. “How do you feel?” she asked.

Spock found the energy from somewhere to raise one eyebrow. “Feel?” he questioned, and his Human mother rolled her eyes.

“Ok, have it your way,” she said, the words not in any way masking her obvious relief that he was awake and well enough to reject the idea that he might be capable of feeling. “What is your current condition?” she rephrased the question.

Spock raised his head slightly, and removed his hand from her grasp. “I would presume that as I am in a hospital, the doctors have been keeping you fully informed of my medical condition,” he said, his voice slightly croaky, “therefore to question me on the subject would seem rather redundant.”

As he had intended, his mother laughed at the pedantic words. She bent to kiss his cheek. “We’ve been so worried,” she whispered close to his ear, before sitting back and smiling down at him.

Spock pushed himself up so he was almost sitting, his upper back resting against the back of the medical bed. It took more effort than he had anticipated. “We?” he questioned.

“Your father and I,” Amanda answered, then fixed him with a speculative look, “and Nyota,” she added. “She seems like a lovely girl…”

Spock decided to ignore the unspoken question in her tone and let his eyes fall shut again. “I am fatigued, mother,” he said, the words truthful, if not entirely the reason he did not wish to speak further.

Amanda reached out and patted his arm. “Of course,” she said. “You get some rest. I’ll be right outside if you need anything.”

When she stepped into the corridor, the door silently sliding shut behind her, Sarek was standing a little way off, in deep discussion with the StarFleet medic who had taken the joint lead in Spock’s care once he had been transferred from New York to San Francisco. The decision to move him had been taken because the StarFleet facility offered far more expertise in the treatment of those not native to Earth than the hospital where he’d been taken directly after the accident, but even so there was a limit to the medical staff’s knowledge of Vulcan physiology, let alone Spock’s unique hybrid make-up. Sarek had called in the services of a healer attached to the Vulcan embassy to work with Dr. M’Benga.

She walked over to join her husband just as his conversation with the doctor drew to a close. M’Benga nodded politely to take his leave and left them alone. Amanda immediately turned to Sarek. “What did he say?” she asked.

“Spock’s physical injury is not sufficient to explain the duration of his lack of consciousness,” Sarek responded, “or his inability to enter the healing trance.” 

“What does that mean?” Amanda demanded, worry making her tone sharper than it would otherwise be.

“It indicates there is something wrong beyond the physical trauma he suffered during the fall,” Sarek said, his tone no different than it would have been were they discussing their plans for the evening, “as do the brain chemistry readings Dr. M’Benga took while he was unconscious.”

Amanda fixed him with an angry glare. “That doesn’t tell me anything,” she said, frustrated. “Sarek, I need to know what’s wrong with my son!”

As her voice broke on the final words, Sarek glanced around him to be sure no one was there to witness his actions, then took her gently by the arm. Amanda allowed herself to be steered towards a row of seats against a nearby wall. They both sat and she stared at her husband, waiting for him to continue.

Sarek sighed. “I do not know what is wrong,” he admitted. “Healer Stenn will need to carry out further investigations once Spock has regained more of his strength.”

“When will that be?” Amanda asked.

“Dr. M’Benga has indicated that now he is fully conscious, there is no reason why he should not be discharged from this facility tomorrow morning. Healer Stenn will then take sole charge of his treatment.”

“Then he’s coming home with us,” Amanda said firmly, her tone broking no argument.

“Yes,” Sarek agreed, knowing it would be pointless to do otherwise, even should he be inclined to do so.

 

~*~*~*~

 

Spock sat on the couch in the living area of the home his parents kept near the Vulcan Embassy. He would have preferred to return to his quarters at the Academy once he had been permitted to leave the hospital but the set of his mother’s jaw when he had suggested it was enough to make him realise that this would not be happening, whatever his personal preference might be.

It was early evening and Healer Stenn was due to arrive shortly but Spock found himself less than willing to submit to the examination he knew was forthcoming. His controls were not functioning as they should and although logically he knew the healer might be the best placed to assist him, he felt ashamed that he had not been able to correct the problem himself. 

He closed his eyes as he leant his head against the back of the sofa. It was the first instance since he had awoken for the third time in the hospital that he had been left alone. He had not had time to process the events of the past few days. Now, he allowed his thoughts to return to Kirk. He had missed their rendezvous. A sliver of pain found its way into his heart as he thought of the Human, waiting for a lover who never appeared. He had never wished to cause Kirk pain. He considered Kirk’s likely actions when Spock had not been there. He would have been angry, upset. Suddenly he missed the Human with an almost physical sense of loss that took his breath away. He would most likely never see him again. The thought was unpleasant in the extreme but running under it was a certain sense of relief. The appointed time for their meeting was no longer looming ahead of him and he no longer had a decision to make. It had been taken out of his hands. Kirk would find happiness elsewhere and Spock would never hurt him further than he already had.

The door opened to reveal Sarek, with another Vulcan of about the same age. The two stepped into the room and Spock got to his feet, inclining his head in greeting. “Father,” he said.

“My son, Spock,” Sarek said to his companion, then turned towards Spock. “This is Healer Stenn,” he added.

The Vulcan, who was slightly shorter than both Spock and Sarek, and wore his greying hair in the style that was the custom of the males of their species, crossed the room to stand in front of the younger Vulcan. He raised his hand, fingers parted in greeting. Spock returned the gesture and Stenn turned to regard Sarek. “We will begin,” he said, and Sarek gave a short nod before he turned and left the room.

The healer turned back to Spock. “Your scans indicate you have been experiencing discomfort for some time,” he said. The words were a statement rather than a question, but Spock nevertheless found himself nodding in response. Stenn looked at him in a way that somehow managed to indicate disapproval without his expression changing in the slightest way. Spock felt the way he had when he had stood in front of the Science Academy’s admissions board; that he had been assessed and judged to be lacking without having been allowed to utter a word in his own defence. “It was not logical to fail to report your symptoms,” the healer added. Spock’s face involuntarily rearranged itself into the same look he had given to the members of the admissions board. He recalled the time he had related the incident to Nyota, when they had still been in a relationship. Apparently an echo of that look had crossed his face then. She had laughed delightedly. 

“Your voice says ‘live long and prosper’,” she’d said at his questioning look, “but your eyes say ‘fuck off and die!’.” Despite the illogic of her words, Spock had found himself suppressing the urge to laugh along with her. At that moment the hurt of rejection, not of his mind and academic ability but of his very claim to be seen as Vulcan, had stung a little less.

The healer took in the look and Spock thought he saw a glimmer of respect that had not been there previously. “I will endeavour to assist,” Stenn said, the gestured towards the sofa. “If you would be seated.”

Spock sat back down, as instructed, and Stenn sat beside him. There was no further conversation, since none was necessary. The healer reached for the meld points at Spock’s temples and the younger Vulcan forced himself to relax and breathe steadily.

The sensation of sharing your mind with another was one that Spock had discovered was difficult to explain to someone without a common frame of reference. He and Uhura had discussed the possibility of melding. For Vulcans it was an integral part of the sexual experience. She had been curious as to what melding entailed and Spock had tried his best to explain it to her, but somehow they had never taken it further than discussion. By unspoken consent they had chosen not to take the step into something that was far more intimate than sharing your body could ever be.

As Stenn skilfully initiated the process of joining their minds, Spock sat perfectly still. A meld with a healer, unlike that with a lover, did not involve a sharing of thoughts and intimate feelings. A healer was trained to seek out that which was functioning incorrectly and to do so with as little intrusion upon the patient under their care as was possible. Spock had never chosen to meld with another through closeness, his experiences were limited to the teaching melds used to instruct Vulcan children in the art and the familial melds practised with young children by their elders in order to establish their mental powers were stable and to ensure their wellbeing. While he was aware of Stenn’s presence in his mind, the experience was not as intrusive as had anticipated. It was a mild sensation; akin to the tickle of a scanner being passed over his body rather than the sharp edge of a scalpel he had feared it would be.

When Stenn gently pulled away, slowly withdrawing his mind from Spock’s, it felt to the younger Vulcan as if they had been joined for mere minutes. He was surprised when his time sense informed him it had in fact been nearer to an hour. Stenn regarded him closely. “There is a link,” he said.

Spock stared at him. “A link?” he repeated, not entirely comprehending the healer’s meaning. “A link of what sort?”

Stenn folded his hands in his lap. “An incomplete betrothal link,” he clarified. “I presume you were not aware of its existence?”

“No, I…” Spock began, his mind whirring.

The healer inclined his head slightly. “It is of no consequence,” he said. “The link exists.”

“Is that possible?” Spock almost whispered.

The healer looked as impatient as it was possible for a full-blooded Vulcan to look. “Its existence is proof that it is possible,” he said shortly. “It is unusual for a link to form spontaneously but it is not unheard of in those who are not betrothed in childhood.” He looked faintly disapproving. “It appears that this is what has happened in your case.” He stood and turned as if to leave. “Completing the link will prevent the continuation of the symptoms from which you have been suffering. I will be prepared to assist you in this should the need arise.”

Spock looked up sharply. “Can it be severed?” he asked.

The healer paused but did not turn to meet his gaze. “Such a course of action would be unwise,” he replied. “As your mind is sufficiently compatible with that of the other to allow a spontaneous link to occur, it would be logical to complete it. In your time it would become a full bond. Should you or the other party wish it to be severed it is possible but would doubtless pose some risk of damage to either or both of you.”

“Damage?” Spock almost whispered. “Damage of what sort?” 

Stenn turned to look at him, fixing him with an unforgiving gaze devoid of sympathy. “He is Human,” the healer stated, and Spock started slightly at the ease with which the healer had identified both the sex and species of the one with whom he was linked. Stenn looked at him, no hint of expression in his stony façade. “I cannot be certain, as there is no precedent for such a link between a Human and a Human/Vulcan hybrid,” he stated baldly. “Such a lack of precedent makes it impossible to estimate the odds of brain damage occurring were the link to be dissolved.”

Spock stared at him, keeping careful control of his expression at the stark words. “Will…will he be aware of its existence?” he asked, and felt a flash of shame at the hint of emotion that crept into his voice.

“It is unlikely,” Stenn continued. “I would hypothesise that he would have experienced its effects to a lesser degree than you. However, he may have displayed some changed behaviour patterns, some changes of ‘mood’.” He pronounced the last word as if it left an unpleasant taste in his mouth, before turning to leave the room, their consultation apparently over. Spock remained perfectly still, staring at the hands folded in his lap. He did not know how something like this could have happened without him being aware of it. The decision on whether or not he would see Kirk again had indeed been taken out of his hands, both of their hands, but not in the way he had previously thought.

The door opened again and Amanda came into the room. She walked over to sit in the spot next to Spock that the healer had just vacated. “Spock?” she said questioningly.

“How much did he tell you?” Spock asked quietly, not meeting her eyes. 

“Very little,” she replied. “He said you have a choice to make but that this something for you alone to decide.” She gave a snort of derision, clearly not satisfied with the healer’s response to what Spock had no doubt would have been vociferous questioning.

He heard the worried plea without her having to put it into words. He knew why she had come in to see him without Sarek. Stenn would not reveal details of his consultation with a patient unless the patient was not capable of making medical decisions for him or herself - in this healers were not unlike Human doctors - and had obviously decided Spock’s impairment was not affecting his judgement to that extent. His father knew that he was more likely to confide in Amanda and that if he did not she would not give up until she had managed to ascertain what was wrong. “It is an incomplete bonding link,” he told her, giving into the inevitability of her getting the information in some way, whether he chose to delay or not.

His mother was silent as she took in the words. “Well, can’t you just complete it?” she asked.

Spock’s mouth quirked slightly at the corners and he gained a sudden unwelcome insight into the Human saying ‘if you didn’t laugh, you’d cry’. If only the solution were that straightforward. “It is not that simple,” he replied.

“Why not?” his mother exclaimed. “She seems like a lovely girl and she obviously cares very much for you.”

Spock momentarily squeezed his eyes shut as he understood her misapprehension. “It is not Nyota,” he said.

His mother was silent for another moment. “I don’t understand. I thought you and she were..”

“We were,” Spock interrupted, “but we ceased our relationship 6.12 months ago.”

“Oh,” Amanda said, her confusion apparent. “Then who…?”

Spock finally looked over to meet her eyes. “His name is Jim Kirk,” he said. Amanda looked taken aback for a moment, then she took a deep breath and reached out to place her hand over his. The gesture was nearly his undoing.

“Do you want to tell me about it?” she said gently.

Spock looked down at his lap again as he told her of his meeting with Kirk, the time they had spent together - leaving out the detail of their physical relationship - and the arrangement they had made when they parted. He also relayed some of the details of his relationship with Uhura and the symptoms he had suffered prior to the collapse that had precipitated his missed meeting with Kirk. He could not deny that it was a relief to finally tell someone about it. Amanda remained silent throughout, listening intently and occasionally giving his hand an encouraging squeeze. Eventually he stopped talking and looked to his mother. “I have not behaved logically,” he said.

Amanda gave his clasped hands a little shake. “Love isn’t logical,” she told him, a hitch in her voice.

Spock looked at her in dismay. How could she have lived so long among Vulcans, raised a son on Vulcan, and still not understand what it meant to be Vulcan? “Love is a Human emotion,” he said. “I am Vulcan. My choice of a bondmate should be made logically. It should not be this way.”

Amanda frowned. “Spock,” she said, “not everything is about logic, not even for a Vulcan.” She gave a strained laugh. “If it was just about logic then why would your father have married me?”

Spock fixed her with a frown of his own. “As ambassador to Earth,” he began, “marrying a Human was the logical thing to do.”

Amanda stared at him. “What?” she said, her voice horrified. “Why would you even think such a thing?” 

Spock was confused. “Sarek told me…”

Amanda pulled her hand away from his and jumped to her feet. “Sarek told you…?”

She started striding purposefully towards the door and Spock stood up, puzzled and slightly alarmed at her reaction. “Mother…”

Amanda waved an arm in his direction without turning around. “You,” she ordered, “sit down and wait right here.” Spock sat back down again so quickly he barely even registered he’d moved until his backside hit the seat. He gazed after her as the door slid shut, wondering if every mother knew the exact tone of voice to use in order to instantly make you feel like a small child again, or if it was just his.

 

~*~*~*~

Sarek looked up from where he was sitting at his desk as the door to the study opened. Amanda practically flew through the door, her eyes blazing with fury. 

“Did you tell our son that you married me because it was logical?” she demanded. She placed her hands on her hips and stared at him, the anger radiating from her body almost as if it were a sentient thing.

Even with a Vulcan’s eidetic memory, Sarek took a few seconds to recall the long ago conversation to which she must be referring. “I did not,” he said calmly, the words only seeming to add to the ire in Amanda’s eyes. “My exact words were that marrying you was the logical thing to do.” He paused. “As indeed it was.”

“Why?” Amanda demanded. 

Sarek stared at her. “My wife,” he began, “you are aware..”

Amanda let out a hissing breath of frustration and walked over to stand at the corner of the desk. “Yes, I’m aware,” she interrupted. “I’m aware of exactly how you feel about me and I know exactly why you married me, but that’s not the point. Our son doesn’t, and he needs to.”

Sarek sat rigidly in his chair. “It is private,” he said stiffly.

Amanda rolled her eyes. “He’s our son!” she exclaimed.

Sarek folded his arms across his chest. “Amanda, I do not know what you expect to be gained from speaking of such matters.” He paused. “Does this have some relevance to the visit from Healer Stenn?”

Amanda glared at him in stony silence for a long moment, then sat on the corner of the desk, her anger abating only slightly. While to most ears Sarek’s tone would appear completely neutral, she could easily hear the concern. “It’s a partially completed betrothal link,” she told him, her tone more even.

Sarek raised an eyebrow. “I was not aware he was considering marriage,” he said.

Amanda let out a sound of frustration at his calm tone. “He wasn’t,” she explained, keep her voice level only with difficulty. “He met someone and fell in love. Neither of them knew the link was there. The other young man still doesn’t.”

Sarek’s other eyebrow rose to join the first in what, for him, was akin to expressing astonishment. “The link formed spontaneously?” he asked, then paused. “Young man?”

Amanda sighed as she regarded her husband. “Sarek,” she said softly, “I know you find it difficult to speak of such things, but this is Spock. He’s in pain and he thinks that allowing himself to love this man would be wrong because it may not be the most logical choice he could make. He thinks that to be Vulcan means denying himself love.”

She held out her hand towards him, the first two fingers extended. “Sarek, I’m asking you as your wife. Please do not allow our son to deny himself the happiness we have found simply because it is not easy to talk of such things.”

Sarek stared back at her in silence then slowly reached to touch his own fingers to hers, before getting to his feet. “I will speak to him,” he said.

Amanda breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank you,” she said. Sarek acknowledged her words with a slight nod and walked past her towards the door. 

Amanda sat down in the chair he husband had just vacated, fighting the urge to follow after him. She wanted to make sure he said the right things to Spock, reassured their son that whatever he chose to do or to be was fine with them. She knew Sarek loved their son, had never doubted it, but the relationship between them had never been easy. Spock had been a sensitive child and his father’s attempts to protect him by encouraging him to follow the Vulcan way, to fit in with his peers, had, while meant only to shield him, succeeded in making him unsure both of where he could find his place in the world and of his father’s affection.

Spock had always been so intent on being as Vulcan as he could possibly be. It had been awful for her to witness his distress when he had failed to meet the exacting standards he had set himself. She had ached to reach out and hold him when she knew he was suffering, but he had stopped letting her when he was little more than five-years-old. She had always known about the taunts and prejudice he faced from the other boys at school, even when he stopped confiding in her about it. That was bad enough, but what broke her heart the most was the stoic triumph she could see in her little boy’s eyes when he hadn’t reacted to their attempts to provoke him and the shame when he hadn’t managed to restrain herself. She felt responsible, not only because she couldn’t protect him from the trials life threw at him just because of who he was, but also because the aspect of his being that caused his problems was his humanity - and that was directly down to being her son.

Nearly four years ago, Spock had asked her if she would feel it reflected badly on her if he chose to follow the route of Kolinahr, to purge all emotions. It had taken all her control to stop her dismay showing on her face. She didn’t want her son to lose his humanity, not because it was the part of him that came from her but because, despite how he was treated by some, she knew it was part of what made him so special. She also feared he might fail if he attempted Kolinahr and, like any mother, she didn’t want her son to suffer a blow to his ego and self-worth that could be more damaging than anything that had gone before. She had given him her blessing and told him she would always be proud, whatever he did and whoever he became. 

Amanda had meant every word she said to her son on that day, but she’d been so relieved when instead of pursing Kolinahr he had opted to go to StarFleet Academy. She worried, of course, about the prospect of him going into space, with all the danger that would entail, but StarFleet offered the chance to be among beings from all species. He would still be the only Vulcan/Human hybrid but he would not longer be the only one who was different. Sarek had been - in his own restrained way - furious when Spock had turned down a place at the Science Academy but she knew that somewhere deep down he’d been as proud as she was. Spock had refused to accept the prejudice so casually thrown at him by the admissions board. As a small child he had reacted to taunts with his fists, as he got older he had retreated into silent suffering. The moment he had stood up to the xenophobia of the admissions board was, in Amanda’s mind, the moment he had begun to come to terms with who he was, the moment he had begun to accept his nature as what it was and begun exploring it rather than ruthlessly suppressing it. StarFleet had allowed him to continue along that path, and she had a feeling that James Kirk might aid that process further.

She had worried that Spock wasn’t betrothed, even though Sarek’s own parents had chosen not to follow the tradition of binding him to another as a child, she had been the one who had steadfastly insisted Spock be given the same choice. She had been concerned that Spock might chose to marry out of obligation, might see bonding with a Vulcan female as another way to conform, but she had hoped he would be able to find someone to love. However, she had feared for him, worried he would go out into space without someone he could turn to in his time. For a long while, she had lived with a fear that her decision to allow him free choice might be one that would some day endanger his life. Now, he had found someone, someone he loved. She only hoped Sarek would find the words to tell his son that love could never be a bad thing, even if you happened to be Vulcan. 

She half got out of her seat. The urge to go after Sarek and make sure he didn’t say the wrong thing was almost irresistible, but her instinct told her that the words Spock needed to hear had to come from his Vulcan father, would mean less from his Human mother. She shook her head in frustration. “Logic,” she muttered to herself. “Sometimes I am so sick to death of bloody logic.”

 

~*~*~*~

Spock was standing by the window, looking out onto the street when his father came into the room. Sarek walked over to join him by the window. “It is expected to rain,” he commented.

Spock raised an eyebrow. If his father had resorted to making small talk about the weather then he must indeed be apprehensive about the conversation Amanda had doubtless urged him to have with his son. The thought of his father being hesitant about anything was an entirely foreign concept, but Spock could not think of an alternative explanation for the comment.

“Spock,” Sarek began, looking straight ahead. “Your mother has informed me of your situation.”

Spock followed his father’s lead and stared resolutely out of the window. This situation reminded him uncomfortably of the time Sarek had informed him of those facts of puberty and reproduction that weren’t covered in the Vulcan school syllabus. That conversation had also been prompted by Amanda, who had been concerned his hybrid physiology might mean his experiences would differ from those of other Vulcan males and did not want him to be ill-prepared if they did. It had not been a pleasant experience.

“A spontaneous link is a most uncommon occurrence,” Sarek continued.

“So Healer Stenn informed me.”

“What do you intend to do?”

Spock looked down at his boots. “I do not know,” he admitted.

The older Vulcan took a quick glance at his son’s bent head. “Spock, such a link can only be formed between two people who are unusually mentally attuned.” Spock looked up at that, and his father continued. “It would be unwise not to explore the possibility of a full bond between yourself and this young man.”

Spock slowly turned his head to look at his father. “You would approve of such a bond?” he said, his voice sounding distant to his own ears.

“You once asked me, Spock,” Sarek said slowly, “why I married your mother.” Spock’s eyes widened at the words. “I regret,” Sarek continued, “that I was less than clear in my answer.” He turned to face his son. “I married your mother because I love her.”

Spock stared at this father, totally speechless as the older Vulcan tucked his hands into the sleeves of his gown and turned to leave the room. When the door opened Amanda was standing just on the other side. Spock repressed an urge to sigh. His parents seemed to be operating some sort of ‘tag-team’ when it came to being in his company. Although their efforts had been most enlightening, he longed for some time alone to process all he had learnt in the past few hours.

Sarek paused when he saw his wife, and Amanda gave him a questioning look. Spock could not see his father’s face, but evidently whatever his expression, it reassured her, as she gave a bright smile and touched his arm briefly before she stepped into the room. She was holding a package, wrapped up in old-fashioned brown paper. “This came for you while you were talking to you father,” she said as the door slid shut behind Sarek. She walked over and handed him the parcel. 

Spock looked at it curiously. He had not been expecting a delivery. “Aren’t you going to open it?” Amanda asked him, and Spock carefully pulled off the wrapping and gazed at the object that was revealed. He looked at the back, where there was the address of a New York art dealer. Amanda moved to his side to look at what he held, drawing in a breath as she saw what it was. She reached out to touch it.

“It’s beautiful,” she said. “Whose work is it?”

Spock stared at his own face immortalised in oil paint. It was him, but not as he saw himself; he was somehow brighter in this reproduction. The image shone with a luminescence that was, as his mother said, beautiful. “It is Jim’s,” he said. The painting was not signed, but he was nevertheless sure of its provenance. His eyes remained fixed on the portrait. Was this really how Kirk saw him? He looked at his mother. “I must go to him,” he said, suddenly possessed by a desperate need to see his lover. 

Amanda touched his arm. “Yes,” she agreed, “but not tonight. It’s been a long day and you’re still weak. You won’t be any good to him if you collapse again.”

Spock thought about arguing but he could see the logic of her words. He did not even know where Kirk was. He took a final look at the portrait before placing it carefully on a nearby table. He would rise early in the morning and set about finding its creator.

 

~*~*~*~

Jim Kirk got off the shuttle in San Francisco and headed straight for the nearest bar. The place was busy, mainly full of cadets winding down at the end of the week. The music was loud and the chatter even more so as StarFleet’s finest shouted to make themselves heard over the din. Kirk made his way to the bar, keeping his head down and the hand that wasn’t holding onto his stuff jammed into the pocket of his jeans. The cadets were mainly in tight little groups, not paying much attention to anyone else. The conversations he caught as he passed them seemed to revolve mainly around their mid-terms and gossip about this instructor or that. It was the sort of place where a non-student could easily be invisible as long as he kept himself to himself. Kirk sat on a lone unoccupied seat at the bar, dumped his luggage by his feet, and ordered a beer. Then he ordered double Jack chaser. He was in the mood to get drunk. Really drunk.

Two hours later and he had pretty much achieved the goal he’d walked in with. He was smashed. Unfortunately it wasn’t making him feel any better. In fact he felt just as miserable as he had when he started, only now he felt angry as well - angry with everything and everyone. He didn’t know what the hell he was doing here. Of all the stupid ideas he’d ever had, this was one of the stupidest. He glared into his drink and decided he’d finish it and go find someplace to stay. He could head back home in the morning and forget he’d even come here.

“Hi,” a female voice said nearby. Kirk noticed the bartender moved far more quickly than he’d moved to serve most other people who’d come up to the bar and glanced in the direction of the voice. Even as inebriated as he was, he couldn’t fail but notice how beautiful the young cadet was. She held a menu up in front of her. “I’d like a Klabnian Fire Tea, three Budwieser Classics, two Cardassian sunrises and…”

“You gotta try the Slusho,” the bartender said, smiling hopefully at her as she paused. 

The woman smiled back, “…the Slusho mix. Thank you.”

Kirk leaned forward on the bar, to better see past the hulking guy sitting on the stool next to him. Fuck Vulcan ‘no shows’ anyway, he thought drunkenly. Who the hell needs that sort of crap? “That’s a lot of drinks for one woman,” he slurred in the cadet’s direction.

She threw him a withering glance then turned back to the barman. “And a shot of Jack, straight up,” she added to her order.

“Make that two,” Kirk cut in. “Her shot’s on me.”

“Her shot’s on her,” the cadet said quickly, throwing him a look that was even more disdainful than the last one. “Thanks but no thanks,” she added.

Kirk felt a flash of humiliation at her tone. “Don’t you even wanna know my name before you completely reject me?” he asked, striving for light-hearted flirtatiousness, but finding it didn’t seem to be coming as easy as it usually did.

“I’m fine without it,” she said in a tone that made him feel like so much dirt underneath her StarFleet issue shoe.

“It’s Jim,” he told her anyway, “Jim Kirk.” The brief moment where he’d wondered if he could take his mind off Spock had passed but he was damned if he was just going to let her walk off thinking he was some idiot hick who wasn’t even worthy to buy her a drink. He ratched up the charm as much as he could in his current state. Once he got going he found his once well-practised methods of chatting up strangers in bars were coming back to him. He managed, with some effort, to get her name - Uhura - and even a hint of a smile. But things pretty much started going downhill from there.

Kirk knew as soon as the stupid-looking cadet with the silly beard challenged him that he was in for a beating, but he didn’t really care. Actually, it was a relief to channel his anger through his fists. The fact that it was four to one and he hadn’t a hope in hell of winning, or even coming out of it without being battered, just made him welcome it more. He got in a fair few good hits before the four to one thing finally won out. As one of them held him down on the table and slammed his fist into his face again and again, Kirk was mildly surprised to find it didn’t even seem to hurt. He closed his eyes and waited for oblivion to take him. 

~*~*~*~

“Enlist?!” Kirk said incredulously as one of his father’s fans stared at him earnestly. He laughed as he shook his head, the movement sending a jab of pain across his bruised face.

“You can be an officer in four years. You can have your own ship in eight,” the man who’d rescued him from his beating at the hands of the group of StarFleet cadets was saying. Kirk sat across the table from the man who’d introduced himself as Captain Christopher Pike, only half listening as he outlined the merits of StarFleet as though he were a one-man recruitment campaign. 

“If you’re half the man your father was, Jim, StarFleet could use you,” Pike tried.

Kirk resisted the urge to roll his eyes at that one - if nothing else it might hurt. Who did this guy think he was anyway? As if he didn’t already know that half the man George Kirk had been was way beyond what he could ever be, whatever his fucking aptitude tests might say. Moodily stuck in his own thoughts, pain shooting from his nose, up between his eyes and into his head, he waited impatiently for the captain to finish.

“Are we done?” he finally interrupted, not caring how rude he sounded. This Pike guy was getting really annoying.

“We’re done,” Pike answered as he got up to leave. Then he turned around to face the younger man again. Kirk stared up at him belligerently. “Your father was captain of a Starhip for 12 minutes,” Pike said, “and he saved 800 lives, including your mother’s. and yours.” He paused, rather over-egging the thing, Kirk thought. “I dare you to do better,” he finished dramatically before turning and leaving. Kirk stared after him and snorted. In another time and another place - hell, who was he kidding, if he was a whole other person - he might have taken that bet. But not here, not now. He gulped down the rest of his drink and headed back towards the bar.

He walked past a group of cadets, several of whom might still have his blood on their hands. They were sweeping up broken glass, disgruntled looks on their faces. Kirk smirked. Perhaps that Pike guy wasn’t so bad after all. “Hey, wait up,” a voice said behind him and he turned to see Uhura. She was with an Asian man that Kirk hadn’t seen earlier, but who, judging by the suspicious look on his face, had been filled in on the evening’s events.

“Hey,” he said back.

“Look, I’m sorry about earlier,” Uhura said, throwing a hostile look towards the floor-sweepers. “Those guys were way out of order.”

“don’t worry about it,” Kirk replied, wiping his sleeve across his upper lip as he felt a fresh drop of blood fall from his nose. ‘Jesus if Spock could see me now,’ he thought.

Uhura stared at him. “What did you say?” she said.

“I said don’t worry about it,” Kirk repeated, this time carefully enunciating each word as if she were hard of hearing.

“No,” she said slowly, “You said ‘if Spock could see me now’,” Kirk peered blearily at her. Had he said that out loud?

“Whatever,” he muttered and moved as if to turn away. He froze as he suddenly realised something. He turned to look at her. “You know Spock, don’t you?” he said.

Uhura was looking at him as if she’d seen a ghost. “Oh my god,” she said. “Jim… you’re Spock’s Jim.”

He grabbed her arm, a sudden urgency taking hold of him. “Do you know where he is?” he asked.

She hesitated, still staring at him. “I…”

“Please,” Jim whispered.

 

~*~*~*~

Despite his near exhaustion, Spock found he could not meditate or sleep, his thoughts were whirling around in his brain. The conversations of that afternoon, first with the healer then with each of his parents occupied a portion of his mind, but for the most part his thoughts were of Kirk. Would the Human still want him after he failed to make their rendezvous. Would he even speak to him? Above all, how would he react to the news that their minds, however tenuously, were linked, that any disturbing experiences he may have had during their separation were due to Spock?

Rather than attempt to reach for the rest he knew would be beyond him that evening, he got of bed turned his attentions to tracking Kirk down. It wasn’t too difficult, wouldn’t have been even for someone without Spock’s considerable computer skills. Kirk was working at a hospital in New York. He had also, the Vulcan uncovered, been painting. He found a representation of one of his works on a website belonging to a gallery, also in New York. It was a hospital scene - a man who was obviously a doctor, asleep next to the bed of a patient. Spock gazed at the image of the painting for a long while. His need for Kirk seemed to have intensified somehow, almost as if now he was aware of the link between them it had flared more widely open. If he closed his eyes he could almost taste the earthy-sweet tang of the Human on his tongue. He was sitting in front of the computer screen doing just that when the door chime sounded, then sounded again and again. Spock got up and moved to answer it. Possibly there was some sort of emergency that required his father’s presence at the embassy.

He opened the door to reveal the man of his imaginings, and found himself rendered speechless. The Human smiled at him. The two were a study in contrasts, one neat, calm and ordered, the other dishevelled, bloodied and giving off a definite reek of alcohol. Spock stared at him, his eyes wide. “Jim…” he began then swallowed as he realised he had no idea what to say. “You are injured,” he eventually said, half raising his arm towards Kirk’s battered face.

Kirk looked at him and gave a drunken smile. “You gonna invite me in or what?” he said, the tone one of seduction rather than the anger Spock had expected.

Spock looked at him for a few seconds longer before silently pulling the door further open. He took a step back, not taking his eyes off Kirk. The Human stalked past him, throwing him an unreadable look as he walked into the corridor and turned into the living room. Spock closed the door quietly so as not to further disturb his parents. He was sure Kirk’s buzzing would have woken them already, but his father’s hearing was keen enough to have discern that the visitor was for Spock and neither he nor Amanda would disturb them. He turned and slowly followed Kirk into the lounge. The Human was standing with his back to him, seemingly taking in the room. Spock took a deep breath. “It is good to see you,” he said tentatively.

Kirk turned around to face him. “Nice place you’ve got here,” he said, ignoring Spock’s statement in favour of gesturing at the room. 

Spock gazed at him. “It belongs to my parents,” he answered automatically then frowned slightly. He did not understand why Kirk did not seem angry or why he was behaving so oddly, even for a Human. 

“See,” Kirk continued, his tone light and conversational. “I was thinking I treated you like shit, and I shouldn’t have done.” He smiled apologetically and sat in one of the comfortable chairs in the room, crossing his legs and draping his hand casually over the arm. “You must have been waiting all alone at the top of the Empire State Building for someone who never showed up and that really wasn’t ok,” he added.

Spock stared speechlessly at him, his heart sinking. “You did not..?” he said faintly.

“No,” Kirk interrupted firmly. “And I came to apologise,” he added, staring up at Spock, his face now emotionless, without even the mirthless smile of a moment before.

Spock turned away. He could not bear to see such a look on the face that had been haunting his dreams for so long. It was an expression he had never thought to see on the Human, whose quick emotions always chased each other across his expressive face, one replacing another in a fascinating way as his moods shifted and changed.

“Don’t you think,” Kirk said loudly to his back, “that if you miss an appointment, you should apologise?”

Spock forced himself to turn back and face him, his eyes meeting the sharp glinting blue of the others. “Yes, I do,” he said quietly.

Kirk laughed, the sound not a pleasant one. “So,” he said coldly, spreading his arms widely to either side, “here I am. Apologising. Apologising for ever thinking this was a good idea, apologising for wasting your obviously precious time.” He stood up abruptly and reached down to the bag he’d laid at the foot of the chair, pulling a musical instrument case from behind it and shoving it roughly in Spock’s direction. “And I had to give you this,” he added. 

The Vulcan reached out automatically to take it. He opened the clasp on the side and lifted out the small, polished instrument. He gazed down at it for a moment, running a finger along the fine wood, then looked back up at Kirk. “This is your grandmother’s mandolin,” he said questioningly, and suddenly he recognised the undercurrent of feeling radiating from beneath the Human’s coldness - the sense of loss and the overwhelming grief. “Oh,” he said, as he felt the pain as though it were his own. He looked up to meet Kirk’s eyes. “I grieve with thee,” he said, the words seeming shamefully inadequate.

Kirk met his gaze with a bitter smile, his mouth ugly and twisted. “She wanted you to have it,” he said tightly. “And now I’ve done what I came to do, I’ll leave you to whatever it was you were doing.” He strode towards the door.

“Jim!” Spock called out, moving after him without any conscious thought. “Please wait.” Kirk stopped but didn’t turn around. “I have thought of you,” Spock added, “many times.”

Kirk stiffened. “What would someone do?” he said softly, his back still to Spock, “if the person they were waiting for didn’t show up?”

Spock frowned, puzzled. “They would…wait,” he offered slowly, unsure what game Kirk was playing.

“How long for?” Kirk quickly fired back.

“I..” Spock began, but was cut off as the Human interrupted.

“Until 1am,” he almost shouted.

“1am?” Spock echoed, his confusion deepening.

“In a thunderstorm,” Kirk added, whirling around to face the Vulcan, his voice getting louder with indignation. “Soaked to the fucking skin and feeling like a total fucking idiot for even being there!” He seemed about to continue when he suddenly caught sight of something. He strode over to a table set against the wall of the room. He picked up the painting that was still where Spock had placed it earlier that day. “Where did you get this?” he demanded, turning his head sharply to look at the Vulcan.

Spock frowned. “It was delivered today,” he answered, “I assumed you had sent it.”

“No,” Kirk said, staring at the portrait in his hands a while longer before putting it back on the table. “No, I didn’t.” The sight of the painting seemed to suck some of the belligerence out of him as he looked back up at Spock. “On the ship it was almost like we could read each other’s minds,” he said softly, “and now…what happened, Spock?”

Spock walked over to stand next to him, placing the mandolin case he’d been holding since Kirk gave it to him on the table next to the portrait, laying the instrument itself gently inside it. He reached up slowly to touch two gentle fingertips to Kirk’s cheek. The Human blinked at the touch but did nothing to stop it or move away. “You are injured,” Spock said once more. “If you will permit me…?” Kirk said nothing as Spock reached out his other hand to take the Human’s. In silence he allowed himself to be led from the room and across the hallway to the stairs.

 

~*~*~*~

In the room he always stayed in while at his parents’ San Francisco residence, Spock led Kirk to the bed. Pressing the Human to sit, he looked at him for a moment. “I will be back shortly,” he said and headed out of the room. He returned some few minutes later holding a small bowl of warm water and a cloth. Sitting next to Kirk he dipped the cloth into the water and reached with his other hand to cup his chin. He lightly dabbed the cloth at the dried blood flecked around his nose and mouth, his touch infinitely gentle. He worked slowly, carefully and thoroughly cleansing each part of Kirk’s face, pausing every now and then to dip the cloth back in the water, which turned slowly pinker with each new submersion.

Kirk closed his eyes. He suddenly felt so tired, as though he could sleep for days, weeks even. The warmth of the soft flannel against his face caressed and soothed him, its touch so comforting in its tenderness. Neither spoke for the entire length of time it took Spock to clean him up. When the Vulcan eventually stopped, setting the bowl to one side, Kirk slowly opened his eyes. Spock returned his gaze evenly. “If it had been possible for me to keep our appointment,” he said, “then nothing would have kept me from you.” He took a deep breath. “There is something I must tell you,” he added.

Kirk could barely stop his eyes from closing again, somehow the questions he had come to get answers to didn’t seem so pressing any longer. “In the morning,” he mumbled. “Need sleep…” 

Spock steadied the Human as he swayed slightly, exhaustion taking over his body. “Very well,” he said softly, manoeuvring the almost-sleeping Human backwards to lie on the bed. Kirk mumbled something unintelligible and wriggled himself under the covers, moving across the bed and holding the covers up for Spock. The Vulcan regarded him for a moment then reached down to pull the boots from Human feet before moving to remove his own. He got into the bed, still fully dressed, and Kirk reached out to pull him close. Within minutes both Human and Vulcan had slipped into the first completely undisturbed sleep either had experienced since they parted.

When Amanda opened the door to Spock’s room in the morning they were still in exactly the positions they had fallen asleep in, bodies pressed tightly together, foreheads touching on the pillow, arms locked around each other. Amanda smiled as she silently closed the door and turned to go downstairs.

In the living room she found Sarek standing by the table, and walked over to join him. “Where did these items come from?” he asked as she reached his side. 

Amanda gave a slight shrug. “The painting arrived for Spock yesterday,” she said. “Isn’t it beautiful?”

Sarek inclined his head. “It does show some skill,” he acknowledged, causing Amanda to roll her eyes fondly. He indicated the mandolin. “And this?” he asked.

“I have no idea,” Amanda answered. “I suppose it must belong to Jim.” She smiled at him. “I’m going to make some breakfast,” she added. “The boys are bound to be hungry when they wake up.” 

When she had gone, Sarek reached out and picked up the mandolin, turning it carefully in his hands as he examined it closely. “Fascinating,” he intoned as his fingers stroked the familiar curves of the instrument.

~*~*~*~

Kirk stirred. He felt deliciously warm and safe, the sort of contentment you can only feel after a really good night’s sleep. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d woken up feeling this way and he didn’t really want to surrender to wakefulness. He kept his eyes closed, snuggling further into the warmth that enveloped him. A pair of arms tightened around him, pulling him close and then he remembered. Spock. His lips curved as he snuggled sleepily, nuzzling his nose into the warm chest he found it pushed up against. A spike of pain shot across his face. “Ow!” he exclaimed before he could stop himself. A hot hand snaked up and stroked his hair, soothing and sympathetic in his touch. Lips pressed against the top of his head.

“You are in pain?” a deep voice whispered.

Kirk slid his own hand down the other’s back. “S’ok,” he murmured.

“We must talk,” Spock continued.

“Umm,” Kirk said, his hand sliding down over his buttocks then back up narrow back. “Plenty of time later,” he muttered. Eyes still closed he moved his head slightly to give himself room to plant a kiss on a Vulcan neck.

Spock’s breath caught as Kirk nuzzled into his neck, this time carefully using only his lips rather than his nose. The Human was planting tiny kisses on his skin, each of the light touches sending a delicious thrill through his body. Somewhere in Spock’s mind he thought he shouldn’t do this. His parents were downstairs and he and Kirk really needed to talk, but it was so overwhelming to have the Human close to him, touching him after so long. Spock surrendered to the touch, tilting his head to allow him better access. 

Kirk slid his hands up to cup the back of his head, moving his own so their cheeks rested together, their early morning stubble a rough sandpaper between them. He poked his tongue out to sneak a taste of the Vulcan’s skin, then pulled back slightly. Spock looked at him. The Human’s eyes were still closed, a blissful smile curving the lips that moved slowly towards his own. They moved softly into a close-mouthed embrace, a simple meeting of mouths more than an actual kiss. They remained like that for a few seconds, then Kirk gently used his own to urge Spock’s open while his hands played through the soft black hair at the nape of his neck. He drew his tongue slowly across the inside of the Vulcan’s bottom lip. 

Spock closed his eyes and sank into the sensations as Kirk used his tongue to explore each part of his mouth, paying tribute to first his lower then his upper lip, alternating the explorative touches with tiny kisses on his lips and the corners of his mouth. It was almost like a semi-waking dream, Spock thought hazily, too content to worry about such a thought being illogical.

Kirk slid his hands down Spock’s back again then up under his shirt, caressing his warm skin. He deepened their kiss, sucking the Vulcan’s tongue into his mouth. Spock groaned and reached to grasp his ass, pulling him closer. Kirk’s soft cries merged with his own, mingling in their joined mouths, as their groins came together. Kirk pulled back and started placing frantic kisses over every bit of Spock’s face. “Oh God, I missed you,” he gasped. Any more words he might have been about to utter were swallowed as Spock reached for his mouth with his own once again, slipping his hands down the back of his pants as he did so. 

Kirk moaned at the heat being transmitted from the Vulcan’s touch. Fully awake now, he suddenly couldn’t wait any longer. Reaching between them he pulled the Vulcan’s pants open, letting his erection spring free. He grasped the long green cock firmly in his hand and the noises Spock was making changed into little repeated ‘uh’ sounds as he began to pump him. All the while kissing him frantically, desperately, Kirk moved his hand up and down on the firm flesh, his own cock throbbing in his pants as he opened his eyes wide to take in every moment of the Vulcan’s wanton abandonment. Spock’s hands moved up to his face, fingertips moving lightly over his temples. 

Suddenly Kirk’s world seemed to stop. He was surrounded by light and stars, as if nothing existed outside of this moment. He felt a wave of enormous passion sweep over him and it was as if he was himself and Spock all at the same time. He was giving pleasure, but also receiving it, holding and being held. He stiffened and threw his head back as the most overwhelming feeling took hold of him. He was caught in the grip of the most amazing orgasm he had ever experienced, shock after shock of pleasure holding him in its thrall. He heard sounds of delight but he no longer knew if they were his or Spock’s as he surrendered to the hot sweetness of pure joy.

Long minutes later Kirk stirred in his lover’s arms. Spock’s seed was cooling in his hand as his own was in his pants. “Jesus Christ,” he murmured. “What was that? You barely even touched me and I’ve never come so hard.”

Spock closed his eyes as he held the Human tightly to him. He had known he would have to speak of this. Kirk needed to know the truth and he should not have allowed the link between them to open without informing him of its existence. But somehow, now he had known the pleasure it could bring with it, he found himself reluctant speak of it, to break the spell it had cast around them. Kirk might be horrified, might leave him again. 

Kirk sensed his lover’s withdrawal and pulled back to look at him just as Spock opened his eyes. He reached up to stroke his face. “What is it?” he asked, a slight frown creasing his face at the look of worry he saw on the Vulcan’s face.

Spock moved to sit up in the bed, tucking himself into his pants and doing them up a he did so. “There is something I must tell you,” he said. 

Kirk sat up next to him and raised his knees, wrapping his arms around his legs and pulling them defensively to him. “If you’re going to dump me again,” he said, his voice defiant but tinged with a fear he couldn’t quite push away, “then I’ll just go and save you the trouble.” He moved as if to get out of the bed and Spock shot out an arm, his steely grip closing around Kirk’s upper arm.

“No,” he said quickly, “that is not what I intend.”

“What then?” Kirk demanded.

Spock took a deep breath. “I did not, as you say, ‘dump you’,” he began.

Kirk peered suspiciously at him. “All right,” he said slowly, “I’m listening.”

Spock mirrored Kirk’s position has he began to explain what had happened to him since their last meeting, detailing his physical and mental symptoms, culminating in his collapse outside the Empire State Building.

Kirk listened intently, taking in every word without interrupting, his concern increasing the longer the Vulcan spoke. By the time Spock finally stopped talking, he was in a state of near panic. His heart was beating so fast it felt as though it might burst from his chest. “What is it?” he managed to get out, fearing the worst. “What’s wrong with you?”

Spock heard the fear in his voice and turned to meet his eyes. “You recall on the ship, when we spoke of the Vulcan tradition of children being betrothed at the age of seven?” he asked. 

Kirk frowned at the sudden change of subject. “Yeah, but what…?”

“I was not betrothed as a child,” Spock said, aware that he was stalling but reluctant to say the words he knew he had to say.

“I know that,” Kirk said impatiently. 

“I did not fully explain the nature of the link,” Spock told him. “It is a metal joining, less than a marriage, more than a betrothal.” Kirk stared uncomprehendingly at him.

“It is possible,” Spock continued, not meeting his eyes, “for such a link to form spontaneously between two unbonded people, should they share a close enough mental compatibility.”

Kirk blinked as understanding dawned. “You mean that’s what happened with us?” he asked. “We’re linked somehow. In our minds?”

Spock nodded miserably. “It was unforgivable of me,” he said. “I was not aware such an occurrence was possible. I did not know the link existed until I was examined by a healer yesterday.”

Kirk gave a shaky laugh and wiped his hand over his eyes, the relief that Spock wasn’t sick almost overwhelming. “Shit, Spock,” he said. “don’t do that to me. I thought you were dying or something!” He sighed as the Vulcan didn’t react to the words. “C’mon,” he added, “don’t look so worried. If you didn’t know, then it can’t be unforgivable, can it?” 

Spock looked at him sharply. “I do not believe you understand,” he said. “The link was formed without your knowledge. It was an inexcusable invasion of your privacy.”

Kirk looked thoughtful. “So that’s why, when we were…that’s why I could feel what you were feeling?”

Spock nodded again, if possible even more disconsolate than before. “Another breach of protocol,” he said. “I was aware of it, yet I let the link open wider.”

Kirk grinned at that. “I’m glad you did,” he said. “That was fucking awesome.”

“Jim, you do not understand,” Spock said again.

Kirk reached out to put a hand on his arm. “Spock, stop beating yourself up about this, ok? It can’t be all that bad if it lets us have sex like that!”

“It is not just about sex,” Spock said, the words coming out more forcefully than he had intended. He willed himself to be calm. “Did you experience any out of the ordinary emotions or physical symptoms while we were apart?” he asked, his voice more level.

Kirk frowned as he considered the past six months. “I guess I felt a bit more narky than usual sometimes,” he said.

“Narky?” the Vulcan questioned.

“Yeah you know, angry, upset.” Kirk shrugged dismissively. “But things were a bit tough and my painting wasn’t going too well, that’s all it was.”

“Possibly,” Spock said. “It is also possible you were experiencing the affects of the link not being completed.”

Kirk frowned again as a thought occurred to him. “Hey, you can’t read my mind or anything, can you?” he said, his brain hurriedly going over all the things he wouldn’t have wanted the Vulcan overhearing while at the same time telling himself to stop thinking of them again.

Spock almost smiled at the conflicted expression on his face. “No,” he reassured him, “not without initiating a mind meld. Even within a full bond it is more an awareness of the other’s presence and well-being than of individual thoughts.” He paused. The Human was still not aware of the full implications of their situation. “Jim, the link could be difficult to break. There would be a risk involved.”

Kirk jerked his head up. “Who said anything about breaking it?” he let out. “Is that what you want?”

“It is not a question of what I want,” Spock answered. “If the link is not fully realised then the symptoms I, and perhaps you, have experienced will remain and in all likelihood worsen.”

“So what if we do ‘fully realise’ it?” Kirk asked.

The Vulcan took a deep breath. This was something that was not spoken of to outworlders, rarely spoken of even among his own people. He fixed his eyes on Kirk’s. “Every seven years a Vulcan male must go through what is called the pon farr. It is a time when we must mate or die in the attempt.” He paused, looking down at his hands. “If we remain linked then I will be drawn to you in my time, and it will become a full bond. A permanent bond.”

Kirk stared at him, his face a picture of horror and Spock felt a wave of desolation wash over him at his confirmation of the Human’s unwillingness to commit. “You see why we must sever the connection?” he forced out.

Kirk swivelled around on the bed so they were facing each other. “Do I even get a choice in this?” he demanded.

“I did not think you would wish…” Spock began, confused as to the meaning of the question.

“You haven’t even asked me what I want!” Kirk interrupted. “Jesus, what is it with people thinking they can run my life for me? What about what I fucking want?”

Spock stared at him. “Forgive me,” he said, “but a bond is a lifetime commitment, I did not think you would consider..”

Kirk leapt out of the bed and glowered down at him, his hands balled into tight fists by his side. “You didn’t think I’d consider? Who the hell do you think you are anyway? What gives you the right to decide that I won’t marry you when you haven’t even got the balls to ask me?!” Spock gaped up at him, speechless in the face of his fury. “Or is this just your way of telling me I’m not good enough?” Kirk continued, his voice growing louder in his rage. “Because I’ve spent the last six months doing everything I can to prove to you, to myself, to everyone that I am good enough, and you know what? I’m sick of it. If I’m not enough, and if you honestly think I’d rather let you die than commit to you,” he strode towards the door and wrenched it open, “then you can just fuck off!” He slammed the door behind him. Spock sat rigid on the bed, staring numbly at the closed door. 

Kirk stomped down the stairs, trembling with anger and something else he didn’t want to even think about, something that had him on the verge of tears. He concentrated on the anger. He was furious, with Spock, with himself, with pretty much everything really. A movement caught his eyes as he reached the bottom step and he came to an abrupt halt, quickly swiping his sleeve across his face and shifting uncomfortably. An older Vulcan male was standing in the hallway looking at him with his head tilted to one side in a mannerism just like Spock’s. 

Sarek gazed at the dishevelled looking Human standing in the hallway of his home, his striking blue eyes alive with anger. “Good morning,” the Vulcan said finally, as if such a meeting were an everyday event.

“Hi,” Kirk managed to force out, not meeting his eyes. He strode past him as quickly as possible without saying another word, exiting the house at a near run in his haste to escape. 

Sarek watched him go then turned as he heard a noise behind him. Amanda stood in the doorway to the kitchen, a spatula in her hand. “I take it he’s not staying for breakfast then?” she said.

“It would appear not,” Sarek agreed. He glanced behind him at the door and opened his mouth to comment on the inexplicable behaviour of Humankind.

Amanda waved the spatula at him. “Don’t even think of saying it!” she warned and Sarek closed his mouth his again. Amanda directed a worried look towards the staircase. “I’ll go and see if he’s all right,” she said. 

~*~*~*~

“I mean where the hell does he get off?” Kirk shouted angrily.

McCoy remained silent. It went very much against his character to resist making a comment, but it was about the fourth time the younger man had posed that particular question - or a version of it - and the doctor had long since resigned himself to the fact that it was rhetorical. After a few failed attempts to get a word in edgeways, he’d decided any advice might be best left until Kirk had ranted the ire out of his system. He didn’t seem to be in the mood to listen right now, hadn’t been since he’d turned up on the doctor’s doorstep.

“He thinks he can just tell me he’s got a girlfriend, fuck off for six months, leave me standing at the top of the fucking Empire State Building like a total fucking idiot and then…,” Kirk almost tripped over the words in his fury, “…then, tell me I don’t want to marry him because of some stupid Vulcan biology thing that I never even knew about!” He paused for breath. “ I mean where does he get off thinking he can do that?!” He glared at McCoy. “Well, aren’t you going to say anything?” he demanded.

McCoy glared right back at him. “You haven’t listened to a word I’ve tried to say so far!” he said indignantly. Kirk threw himself in one of the doctor’s armchairs and folded his arms across his chest. McCoy sighed, his friend looked for all the world like a sulky child. “Do you really want to know what I think?” he asked impatiently.

Kirk frowned. “I asked, didn’t I?” he muttered.

“I think,” McCoy said portentously, glad to finally have his say, “that I ought to bang the two of your heads together.”

“What?!” Kirk interrupted, starting forward in the chair.

McCoy scowled at him. “Shut up!” he said belligerently, determined not to be stopped now his opinion had finally been requested. Kirk continued to glower at him, but did as asked. “Firstly,” McCoy continued sarcastically, holding up his hand in a parody of Kirk’s actions the morning after they’d met, “you had a girlfriend as well, so you’re hardly one to talk. Secondly,” he added, ticking off the next finger, “the six month thing was your idea. Thirdly,” he continued, getting into his stride now, “you can hardly blame the poor guy for keeling over, fourthly his biology is hardly his fault and number five,” he jabbed his thumb in Kirk’s direction, his voice rising to a shout, “he, for some goddamn reason known only to himself, obviously loves you as much as you love him!”

Kirk stared at him. “How’d you figure that last one out?” he asked, choosing to ignore the rest of the doctor’s little speech.

McCoy sat in the chair opposite him. “Jim, he’s Vulcan,” he said. “They just don’t do casual relationships.”

“He’s half Human,” Kirk retorted, “and in my experience, Humans definitely do casual.”

McCoy sighed. “Look, you said he’s been raised as a Vulcan, right?” Kirk nodded grudgingly. “And he acts like a Vulcan?” McCoy added. Kirk nodded again. In the six months he and Spock had been apart, he’d made sure to read as much as he could find on Vulcan customs and sociology. Even though Spock was the first Vulcan he’d met, he thought he was pretty well up on their typical behaviour, although the texts had inconveniently missed out the facts of biology he was now aware of. 

“For you,” McCoy continued, “he, presumably, left his girlfriend; he agreed to this harebrained six-month scheme of yours; he turned up at the Empire State Building,” the doctor looked triumphant at his reasoning, “that sure sounds a lot more like love than logic to me.”

Kirk didn’t seem convinced. “So why does he want to get rid of this link we have between us?” he retorted. “What’s your brilliant theory on that one?”

“Jesus, Jim,” McCoy said, “would you ever listen to yourself? He didn’t say he didn’t want to be linked to you, he said he thought you wouldn’t want to be linked to him.” Kirk was staring at him as if the words Spock had said suddenly sounded completely different when spelled out by someone else. McCoy shook his head. “He knows your track record, right?” he asked, “and he knows you were being pushed into marriage when you met. Can you blame him for thinking you might be a teensy bit wary about having this link thrust on you? Did you ever stop to think that maybe he was worried about how you’d react when he told you about it, that maybe you’d take off?”

Kirk frowned. “I did take off.”

“Yeah,” McCoy said, “you did. So what does that tell you?” he added, his southern drawl-accompanied bedside manner in full force. He leant forward, his expression suddenly serious. “Look Jim, you need to think about what you want. This link doesn’t sound like something you can muck around with. It exists and you can’t run away from it. You can’t pass the blame onto him and just hide from the consequences.”

Kirk looked startled at that. “I’m not!” he exclaimed. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“You know what I’m talking about, Jim,” McCoy said sternly, “and I’m only saying this because I’m your friend.” Kirk looked at him warily and the doctor took a deep breath. “You’ve got through life hiding behind a persona, putting up a tough front or a charming front, or whatever front it is you need at the time, and you can’t do that forever.” Kirk gaped at him, his mouth open, but McCoy ploughed on. “If you don’t want him, tell him,” he held up his hand to stall the protest he could see Kirk was about to make, “if you do want him, if you do love him, then tell him that. Just make sure it’s what you really want.”

Kirk stared silently at him and McCoy dried up, suddenly worried he’d said too much, pushed him too hard. Kirk’s blue eyes were wide, a naked vulnerability clearly visible.  
McCoy reached out and put a hand on his shoulder. “Jim,” he said quietly. “When you made this six-month deal with him did you expect him to turn up at the end of it?”

Kirk looked up sharply. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” the doctor said. “Did you really expect him to be there or did you make a romantic pact that you never thought would actually happen?”

“Why the fuck would I do that?” Kirk demanded, confusion fighting hurt and anger in his voice.

McCoy gazed steadily at him. “So you could put him down as a no show, so you could wallow in that chip on your shoulder? So you wouldn’t have to face how you really feel?” he suggested.

Kirk stared at him, his face pale. McCoy patted his arm. “Just think about, eh?” he said quietly as he got up and went into the kitchen. He leant against the counter and closed his eyes. He hoped he’d done the right thing by speaking his mind and he hoped he hadn’t just pushed his friend so far that he wouldn’t be able to get him back.

 

~*~*~*~

 

Spock stood on the sidewalk and looked up at the building in front of him. It was definitely the registered address for James T. Kirk. He was in one of the less wealthy areas of New York and the records he had found showed that Kirk shared an apartment with several others. It looked as though the Human had eschewed the financial support of his stepfather during their time apart, had perhaps set out to prove he was not, as he had put it, ‘a waster’.

Spock felt his heart beat faster in his side as he stepped up to the door and pressed the buzzer set into the wall next to it. He waited. And waited. His anticipation turned quickly to despondency. He had planned what he would say when he saw the Human but, illogically, he had not considered what he would do if Kirk were not at home. He turned from the door and was about to walk away when there was a sound behind him. He looked around as the door slid open. A Human male wearing pyjama bottoms that appeared to be decorated with miniature starships stood in its place, peering at him as if the sunlight hurt his eyes. “Hey man,” he said, his voice full of awe, “cool ears.”

Nine point three minutes later, following a conversation on the doorstep that had left him rather bewildered, Spock found himself seated in an untidy lounge clasping a large mug of what he had been assured was tea but bore very little resemblance to the beverage he was used to. Putting the mug of dubious liquid to one side, he looked at Kirk’s flatmate. “Are you certain Jim is due back shortly?” he inquired.

The Human frowned slightly. “Well, he’s been gone a while,” he said vaguely, “so I guess he should be back any time now.” Spock frowned slightly, failing to follow the reasoning that led to such a conclusion. Timmo, as the man had introduced himself, yawned widely, not bothering to move his hand to cover his mouth, and picked up a small game PADD that he’d obviously discarded when Spock had buzzed at the door. “You wanna play Tribble Attack?” he asked.

Spock raised an eyebrow. “What is Tribble Attack?” he asked, not certain he really cared to know the answer but fairly sure this curious being was going to tell him whether he answered in the affirmative or not and keen to avoid playing any sort of game while he awaited Kirk’s arrival. 

Timmo failed to register his lack of enthusiasm and got up from his seat, loping over to sit next to him on the couch, his gangly limbs making him seem unwieldy even moving over such a small area. He held the game PADD out so the Vulcan could see it. “You got your Tribbles here, right?” he said, waving the PADD. He seemed to require an answer, so Spock nodded warily. “Well the idea is this big blue one,” he jabbed at the screen with his free hand, “is you and you gotta eat up all the Klingons and get to the Homeworld to breed before they blast you to bits.”

Spock stared at him. “Tribbles do not eat Klingons,” he said, flatly stating the obvious. 

Timmo looked from the screen to Spock, then back again. “Guess these ones must be real hungry then,” he replied thoughtfully, his eyes fixed on the animated figures jumping up and down on the PADD. 

Before he could attempt to formulate a response to that puzzling statement, Spock heard a noise from out in the hallway and stiffened. Timmo’s eyes remained locked on the screen in front of him as he spoke. “Told you he’d be back soon,” he said confidently, as though the Vulcan had been mad to ever doubt his word. Spock barely registered that he’d spoken as he rose to his feet and turned towards the doorway just as the Human he had been waiting for appeared.

Kirk was heading towards his bedroom but something made him turn his head as he passed the lounge. Spock was standing there, staring at him. Kirk stared back, his heart thumping in his chest. “Hi,” he eventually said after a long moment of silence. 

“Jim,” Spock acknowledged in greeting. His voice sounded odd to his own ears, and he self-consciously cleared his throat. “I wished to talk with you,” he added, “if it is a convenient time?”

Kirk nodded. “Come on, we can go in my room.”

Spock silently followed the Human into his bedroom, stopping just in front of the door as it slid shut. He folded his hands behind his back. “I owe you an apology,” he said, his tone formal. 

Kirk sighed. “No, you don’t,” he said. “I acted like a total dumbass, and I’m the one who should be sorry.”

“You did not act like a ‘dumbass’,” Spock replied, “I should not have presumed to know your wishes without asking you.”

Kirk moved to sit on the bed. “No you shouldn’t have, but the truth is I wasn’t really sure what I wanted. I reacted without thinking. I didn’t know what to say when you told me about the link so I pushed you away and ran.”

“It was understandable,” Spock began, trying to control the gut-wrenching pang of fear he felt when the Human said he wasn’t sure. “I did not phrase it as well as I could have. I..”

“No,” Kirk interrupted, “let me finish.” He looked up and met the Vulcan’s eyes. “I was scared, Spock,” he said quietly. “I’ve never felt like this before and I didn’t know how to handle it. I guess that’s why I came up with the idea of going away for six months to think about it.” He paused and Spock watched him silently, waiting for him to continue. “I don’t think I even realised what I was doing but a good friend told me a few home truths earlier. I’ve just been wondering the streets thinking about it.” He stretched out a hand towards the Vulcan and smiled tentatively. “I was going to come back to you, you know.”

Spock reached out to take his hand and allowed himself to be drawn down to sit on the bed. He smoothed his thumb over the skin on the back of Kirk’s hand. “I was not sure that you would,” he said quietly, his eyes downcast.

“Are you sure you wanted me to?” Kirk asked. He had to know, was sure he hadn’t imagined the doubt in the Vulcan’s eyes in San Francisco.

Spock didn’t look up. He continued to stroke the skin of Kirk’s hand as he spoke. “I too was unsure,” he admitted. “I was unprepared for the depth of my feelings and I did not know that the presence of the link was making it harder for me to control while we were parted.” He took a quick glance at Kirk to find the Human gazing intently at him. “When I regained consciousness in San Francisco,” he continued, “there was some small sense of relief that I had missed our meeting.” 

Kirk turned his hand over to grip the Vulcan’s tightly. He gave a shaky laugh, the tension of the conversation making him half want to run, half to hold onto the man next to him close and never let him go. “McCoy thinks he should bang our heads together,” he offered, not sure if he was quite ready yet to question the Vulcan further on the reasons for his relief.

Spock looked up and frowned slightly. “That would seem a most illogical course of action,” he stated and Kirk laughed, feeling some of the tension disperse.

“Well Bones never claimed to be logical,” he said, “but sometimes he does make a lot of sense.”

“Indeed?” Spock questioned.

“He thinks I have a problem showing how I feel and that I protect myself by putting on a persona that isn’t really me.”

Spock stared at him. “My mother offered a similar theory to explain my actions,” he said slowly. “After you left, she told me she believes that I fear admitting my feeling for you would make me less Vulcan.”

“And do you?” Kirk asked.

“To some extent,” Spock admitted. A look flash of pain flitted across Kirk’s face at the words and Spock shifted on the bed, pulling the Human around as he did so, until they were facing each other, “but I am willing to face my fears,” he added. He seemed about to add something but then stopped.

Kirk gave a slight tug on his hand. “What is it?” he asked, his heart racing as his brain processed the fact that the Vulcan appeared to be saying he did feel something for him. “Spock,” he added when the Vulcan still hesitated. “If we’ve learnt anything by now it should be that we need to keep talking about things.”

“Yes, you are correct,” the Vulcan said. His brown eyes remained fixed on Kirk’s as he continued. “Your words in San Francisco concerned me.”

Kirk frowned, his mind rapidly going over the things he’d said in the heat of the moment. “Which words?” he asked.

“You said,” the Vulcan clarified, “that you had been attempting to prove you were good enough.”

Kirk nodded, feeling slightly embarrassed. He had not meant to reveal his insecurities so easily. “Yeah well,” he said, trying to make light of the words he’d spoken, “being told you’re worth jack shit for most of your life can do that to you,” he added, then mentally kicked himself at the bitterness that still came through in the words despite his best efforts.

Spock reached up with the hand that wasn’t holding the Human’s and stroked the dark blond hair behind his rounded ear. “I regret if I ever gave you the impression that you were not,” he said, his self-consciousness making the words come out quietly but not affecting his determination to say them, his knowledge that they needed to be said, however difficult he might find it. “I have never thought you were anything less than wonderful,” he finished.

Kirk choked back a sound at the description of himself he had never thought to hear from anyone, let alone his austere Vulcan lover. He wasn’t entirely sure himself if what he was holding back was a laugh or a sob. He pulled the Vulcan to him and gave into a choked sounding laugh. “Oh no,” he murmured into his neck, “you’re the wonderful one.”

Spock pushed him away, holding him at arm’s length and fixing him with a stern look that completely belayed the softness of the moment before. “I would suggest you do not argue about this,” he said.

Kirk laughed. “Oh yeah?” he teased, relieved to be back on more solid ground. “So whaddya gonna do about it?” 

Spock moved suddenly, and before he could do anything about it Kirk found himself flat on his back on the bed, a heavy Vulcan body on top of him holding him in place. Spock raised his eyebrows.

“Ok, ok,” Kirk laughed, his breath squeezed out of him. “You win.”

Spock sat up so he was straddling the Human. “We still need to talk,” he said softly. “There is much to discuss.”

Kirk gazed up at him. “I’d like to know more about this link we have,” he said. “If you want to tell me?” Spock shifted, moving his leg over Kirk’s body and turning to lie on his side next to the Human. Kirk moved so they were face to face. 

Spock reached to touch his fingertips briefly to the Human’s temple. “It would be easier to show you,” he said, “If you will permit…?” 

Kirk regarded him with a look of complete trust. “All right,” he said simply.

 

~*~*~*~

 

As Spock touched his face, Kirk closed his eyes. The Vulcan’s fingers pressed firmly but gently against his temple and the side of his nose. 

“Are you sure you wish to do this?” Spock asked, concern apparent in his voice. “It may be slightly uncomfortable.”

Kirk opened his eyes a crack and smiled at the nervous look on the Vulcan’s face. “It’ll be ok,” he said, not entirely sure if it was Spock he was reassuring or himself.

Spock closed his eyes. “As you wish,” he murmured, and Kirk felt the pressure exerted by the fingertips against his face increase. Suddenly he felt as though he was falling and the sensation took his breath away. He gasped to take in a gulp of air and reached out. His hand encountered a warm hip and he grasped it tightly. “My mind to yours,” he heard Spock whisper, tension running through his voice, and everything went dark for a moment. 

Kirk slowly opened his eyes. He was standing in a place as black as space, if standing was the right word since he couldn’t see anything but darkness below his feet. The only light seemed to be surrounding him and the being who was next to him, tightly holding his hand. He turned towards Spock. “Where are we?” he murmured.

Spock squeezed his hand. “What you see is a manifestation of our minds,” he answered.

Kirk giggled, despite his near certainty that laughing probably wasn’t the done thing in this situation. “But it’s blank,” he said, an almost manic feeling slipping over him as the thought occurred to him that maybe his stepfather had been right all along when he said his teachers must have got the genius thing wrong.

Spock looked sternly at him, but his voice was shot through with amusement as he spoke. “It is blank because your eyes are closed,” he said.

Kirk looked at him sharply. “No they’re not,” he said, still possessed by an almost uncontrollable urge to laugh hysterically, the mirth rising up inside him. “I can see you for a start.”

Spock reached out to hold his other hand, the movement bringing them face to face. “We are within a meld,” he said. “The physical being you see as me is a construct of your mind.” He looked around to take in their surroundings. “What you see as darkness is because your mind is shielding itself from me. It is a natural reaction.”

Kirk frowned. “But how can I open my eyes when as far as I can tell they’re open already?” he said, frustration colouring his voice. “This is weird,” he added.

“Indeed,” Spock said, raising an eyebrow but not answering Kirk’s question.

Kirk reached up to run his fingertips along the expressive line of hair above the Vulcan’s eye, tracing its steep curve. “What can you see?” he asked.

“I see only you,” Spock answered.

“So your eyes are closed as well?” he asked, getting a little annoyed that he didn’t thoroughly understand what was going on.

“When I spoke of seeing and of your eyes being closed, I spoke metaphorically,” the Vulcan said, and Kirk felt his annoyance level increase.

“Metaphorically?” he snorted. “How logical can that be?!” He let go of the Vulcan’s hands and turned slowly around on the spot, opening his eyes as wide as he could, straining to try to see something in the darkness. “Now’s a great time to get all metaphysical on me,” he muttered.

“Forgive me,” Spock answered. “The rules of the physical world do not apply within a meld. I was endeavouring to explain in terms you would comprehend.”

Kirk swung around to face him, his eyebrows raised. “Oh great,” he said grumpily. “First you’re telling me I can’t tell if my metaphorical eyes are open or not, now you’re telling me my teeny tiny Human brain can’t understand what’s going on.”

Spock smiled at him and Kirk stared at the unfamiliar expression. The Vulcan moved closer and reached out to take his hand again. “I did intend to imply you were incapable of comprehending,” he explained. “I am little more familiar with this type of experience than you are. The melds I have participated in on previous occasions were with my father or with teachers.” He looked around them again. “I find this to be most different.” 

Kirk looked at him in disbelief. “You don’t have the faintest idea what you’re doing do you?” he said.

Spock looked askance at him. “I would not put it in quite those terms,” he said haughtily. “I would not have suggested joining our minds if I had ‘no idea what I was doing’, I simply have not experienced this with anyone before.”

Kirk put his hands on his hips and glared at him. “So what do we do, then?” he demanded.

Spock sat down, his legs crossed, and looked up at his companion. “I would suggest we attempt to ‘open our eyes’,” he said, as if it was the most obvious answer in the world.

Kirk stared down at the Vulcan, who seemed to be floating unsupported in the blackness, and gave into the urge to laugh that seemed to be coming over him at the most inopportune moments. “You look like a gnome,” he spluttered.

Spock frowned at him. “Really, Jim,” he said. “I see no reason for insults.”

Kirk moved and sat down in front of him in the nothingness, mirroring his cross-legged position. “Ok Sherlock,” he said, and Spock’s eyebrows shot up again at the unexpected moniker, “let’s go for it.”

Spock hesitated as he met the expectant blue eyes. “Perhaps if we were to concentrate on our feelings for one another,” he said, the unfamiliar words making him, perhaps illogically, feel more self-conscious than he had when it was merely each other’s bodies they were exploring.

Kirk looked at him knowingly, then let his eyes rake over the lithe body in front of him. “I can do that,” he said, letting a deliberately lascivious tone seep into his words.  
Spock fixed him with an exasperated look. “That was not the sort of feeling I was referring to,” he informed him tartly.

“Sorry,” Kirk grinned, holding out his hands, palms upward in supplication, “I can’t help it if I think you’re hot.”

Spock gave him one last glare and then closed his eyes, reaching out to take the Human’s hands in his own. Their knees were touching, the only sound that of their breathing. Kirk felt the urge to laugh fade and slowly closed his eyes. 

“Try to relax,” Spock murmured, “and open your mind’s eye.”

Kirk cracked an eye open. “What the hell does that mean?” he muttered. Spock ignored him, looking for all the world like a monk attempting to commune with a higher being. Kirk sighed and shut his eyes again.

Spock drew on all the lessons he had been taught about the meld as a child. He carefully reached inside himself, concentrating on finding the link he knew was there somewhere, the slender thread that bound him to this Human. His thoughts were not as disciplined as they should be, but Spock ignored the disorder, sorting efficiently through his experiences and emotions, searching for the strand within his mind that the healer had told him existed.

Kirk didn’t know what he should be feeling, or even if he should be feeling anything. He concentrated on thoughts of the Vulcan, the sensations he had felt when they were together; the delicious feeling of hotter than Human skin against his own; the mind-blowing release when they came; the simple joy of walking in the sunlight with the Vulcan’s arm in his own; the aching desire he felt when a pointed eyebrow quirked in his direction. Suddenly he saw a gossamer filament of light as if from behind his closed eyes. It drew him towards it and his mind reached out as if of its own volition. He saw himself almost as if in a dream, his hands reaching out to grasp the beauty of it.

Spock gasped as an explosion of light filled his mind. His eyes flew open and he gaped in astonishment at the man opposite him. Kirk was grinning at him. “Found it!” the Human exclaimed, the words triumphant .

Spock struggled to take in a breath. “I do not understand,” he said, barely managing to get out the words as a kaleidoscope of colours invaded the space around them, swirling as if they were vying for supremacy while at the same time caressing each other as if they had been set free after a long imprisonment. He could not comprehend how the Human had found what he was searching for, apparently so easily.

Kirk laughed joyfully as he got to his feet, holding his arms out as if to gather the colours close to his body. He reached down a hand to the Vulcan. “It’s so beautiful,” he said in awe. 

Spock took the hand offered to him and stood, vaguely noticing that his feet now seemed to be resting on a bed of vibrant green. Somewhere, he wasn’t sure where, his mind noted that it could not be possible to be standing on a colour.  
Kirk laughed again. “It is possible if it’s happening,” he said, responding to Spock’s unspoken, almost unacknowledged, thought. 

The Vulcan stared into the whirl of colours around them, twisting through them was a sliver of white light that, when he looked more closely, seemed almost as though it was made up of strands of diaphanous thread, each one delicate, fine and barely there. He reached up to touch it and the filaments closed around his hand, twining about his fingers, caressing and twisting as if they were embracing him.

“Is that really the link?” Kirk whispered, his voice full of awe as he gazed at the filmy threads swirling through Spock’s fingers, reaching out across his wrist and over his forearm. He hesitantly reached his own hand out to touch them and gasped as they immediately spun themselves around his skin, the touch like the gentle whisper of a warm breeze on a sunny day.

Spock gazed at the light enveloping their two arms, binding them closer and closer together. “If we continue,” he said softly, “the link will be completed.” He carefully kept any hint of hope or desire out of his voice. He did not wish to exert any undue influence over Kirk, could not let him feel the way in which his entire being was yearning to feel the link strengthen into the whole that he now felt it could be.

Kirk laced his fingers through Spock’s, the silky thread of light glowing as he did so, radiating a heat that travelled through his body. It made him feel as if every cell in his body was singing, as though he was being pulled inexorably towards a completion that he had never before thought could exist. He looked up from their hands to meet Spock’s eyes and put every ounce of his strength into projecting the joy he felt at simply being here like this, their bodies and minds touching. He knew what Spock was asking without the words needing to be said. “I’m sure,” he told him.

Spock felt the pure happiness radiating from the Human and for the first time he felt no doubt in either of them. He took a deep breath and, acting on instinct alone, pulled Kirk to him so their bodies were touching along their entire length. Immediately the light twisting around their hands grew brighter, almost blindingly so, moving like a liquid force until, within seconds, it had completely enveloped them.

Kirk gasped as the link burst wide open. He was Spock and Spock was him, a paradoxical duality in which he was two and yet somehow more purely one, more completely himself. Time seemed to both stop and to go on forever, a moment that was nothing and yet everything. He could see Spock’s experiences, feel his emotions, not as though he was reading his thoughts but as though he had been there with him. He saw a small boy, his lip stained with blood; he heard the taunts of those whose blood contained none of the barely traceable Human elements that meant even that even when he bled the colour was not quite right; he felt the fury that coursed through Spock’s veins at how unfair it was and he felt the comfort of a mother’s arms around him, the need for her love clashing with the conviction that to need such a thing at all was a weakness he should never allow.

Spock felt the essence of the Human all around him. As he allowed Kirk to see inside him, so he saw inside Kirk. He saw the brilliance of his mind, the razor sharp intelligence tempered with a deep compassion and a raw sensitivity. He felt the seams of self-doubt and uncertainty threading through his mind, placed there in the course of all those years when he should have been nurtured and hadn’t been. He saw the shield of toughness that had been wrapped around all the layers, protecting and inward-looking, censoring what would be allowed in and what would be permitted to show through. Spock reached out gently with his mind to touch him and felt the other hesitate. He pulled back. He would not force this. 

Kirk felt Spock’s question like a gentle tap on a door. He felt so exposed. He did not know if he could lay his entire being open for another to see. He instinctively began to pull away. Then he felt waves of reassurance coming from the Vulcan. It was all right, Spock was telling him. He need not show anything he did not wish to. Steely determination washed over him. “I want to,” he firmly told himself, grabbing control of his mind and forcing it to stop its instinctive retreat. Spock had shared so much of himself and he would not - could not - allow himself to show less trust than his friend had. He concentrated resolutely on the last barrier he could still feel between them. It was a wall of his making and he knew only he could pull it down. But he didn’t know how. It towered in front of him, as real as if it was made of bricks and mortar. 

“Look within,” Spock’s voice echoed around him. “You can do it.”

Kirk reached inside himself and focused on the kernel of self-belief locked deep under the doubts, a small knot of love and hope that no one had ever been able to touch or destroy, something he had hugged close to himself, jealously guarding and fiercely protecting. “Emmie,” he whispered and he could have sworn he saw her. He felt the belief she had always had in him, the unconditional love that was there for the taking, that was still there with him even though she had gone. She smiled at him, her face a picture of radiance and love, and the pain inside him eased. The wall began to crumble.

Spock watched as the barrier faded slowly away until there was nothing between them. He reached out, knowing that now his touch was allowed, would be welcomed. He soothed away the uncertainty, salving it with his own belief in this so special Human. He stroked at the doubts that had been allowed to tangle in the brilliance, and eventually they began to dull, fading until their hold was no longer a stranglehold.

Their minds twined around each other, fully embracing all that the other was. Their voices spoke as one.

“You are worthy.”

“You are Vulcan.”

“So beautifully Vulcan…”

“…so beautifully Human….”

“Unique.”

“T’hy’la.”

“Only you…”

“Only you,” Kirk gasped, his voice in sync with Spock’s as he suddenly found himself back on the bed in his room, Vulcan arms locked tightly around him. He pressed his forehead against Spock’s. “You can love and still be Vulcan,” he whispered. “That’s what your mother was trying to tell you.”

“And you are worthy to love and be loved in return,” Spock replied, his voice so quiet it was barely audible, “as your grandmother always knew.”

 

~*~*~*~

**PART 4: 18 months later. September**

“This damn thing is like some kind of torture device,” McCoy proclaimed loudly, pulling at the collar of his dress uniform.

Kirk rolled his eyes. “Jesus, Bones,” he said, “will you just quit complaining and get your boots on before we end up being late?”

McCoy sat down heavily on his bunk and reached down to pluck a boot up off the floor. Pulling it onto his left foot he scowled up at his friend. “I don’t know why I ever let you talk me into joining an organisation that gets sadistic pleasure in cutting off people’s circulation,” he muttered grumpily as he pulled on the other boot. “It’s bad enough that we have to go out into space,” he added, “which, by the way, is nothing more than disease and danger wrapped up in darkness and silence,” he paused and glowered at the younger man, who’d mouthed his final words along with him as he said them. “Did I mention that before?”

Kirk made a face. “Just a few times,” he said sarcastically. It was more like a million times in the 18 months since they’d enlisted, but who’d been counting? “And I didn’t talk you into anything,” he added, resting his index finger on his chin and putting on an expression of deep reflection. “Now what was it you said? Oh yeah, I remember. Wasn’t it ‘if it takes joining StarFleet to get the damn resources for my research then I’ll join the damn ‘Fleet and it’ll be the damn health council’s fault when I end up with my damn atoms scrambled across the damn universe’?” 

“They will be,” McCoy said indignantly, “just you wait. Those transporters…”

“Bones,” Kirk interrupted, before the doctor could take off on one of his anti-technology diatribes. “Will you hurry up?”

McCoy got to his feet. “All right, all right, I’m ready.”

He strode past Kirk towards the door then turned and grinned as he caught the younger man taking a final look in the mirror. “Well come on then pretty boy,” he said brightly. “Don’t wanna be late!” he added as he headed out of the room.

McCoy threw a glance Kirk’s way as they headed down the steps out of the dorm building a few minutes later. He frowned suspiciously as he took in the look on his friend’s face. “What are you looking so deep in thought about anyway?” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Kirk retorted.

McCoy sighed. He was pleased his friend had gained so much confidence over their time at the academy, even if the person who had a lot to do with that was the most utterly infuriating being he’d ever met. The little glimpses he’d got of the man Kirk was deep down had really come to the forefront over the past 18 months, but sometimes - like now for instance - the guy could be nearly as annoying as his Vulcan other half. “I don’t suppose you do,” he said long-sufferingly.

They passed two attractive young women as they neared the bottom of the steps and McCoy glanced appreciatively in their direction. Kirk didn’t give them a second look. “I’m taking the test again,” he said instead.

McCoy shot him a horrified look. “You gotta be kidding,” he exclaimed.

“Yeah, tomorrow morning,” Kirk clarified, “and I want you there.”

“You know I got better things to do than watch you embarrass yourself for a third time,” McCoy told him. “I’m a doctor, Jim,” he added. “I’m busy.”

“Bones, it doesn’t bother you that no one’s ever passed the test?” Kirk asked. He’d failed the infamous exam twice already and each failure had only served to make him more determined to find a solution. 

“Jim,” McCoy said, stopping suddenly, exasperation written all over his face, “It’s the Kobayashi Maru. No one passes the test, and no one goes back for seconds, let alone thirds.”

Kirk clapped him on the shoulder. “Well I’ll be the first then, won’t I?” he retorted.

McCoy sighed and resumed walking. “So,” he said, deciding that since he wasn’t going to get through to Kirk, he might as well change the subject and hope the younger man forgot about wanting his presence in the simulator. “Is the hobgoblin nervous?”

Kirk punched him on the arm. “Would you stop calling him that?” he retorted. “You know how much he hates it. And Vulcans don’t get nervous,” he lied.

McCoy flashed him a knowing look. “Yeah, right,” he said conversationally, “and my grandmother was a Klingon Targ.”

Kirk snorted. “Well that explains the charming bedside manner,” he said, prompting another glare from McCoy. 

The doors to the hall slid open as they approached and half the faces in the room turned to look at the late arrivals. Kirk grinned unapologetically at them and, despite his earlier entreaties to McCoy to hurry up, it was the doctor who ended up flushing red in chagrin. “Come on,” he whispered as he hurriedly propelled Kirk down the centre aisle, wondering at the man’s ability to face out any situation without a hint of embarrassment. He slipped gratefully into one of the seats saved for them near the front, dragging Kirk in behind him. 

“You’re late,” a voice hissed at them as they sat, “they’re about to start.”

Kirk leant over McCoy to address the speaker. “If they’re about to start,” he said, his voice the epitome of reason, “then we’re not late, are we?” 

Uhura glared at him and Kirk smirked indolently back at her. Sulu leant forward from the seat to her other side and raised the hand that wasn’t holding hers in greeting. Kirk glanced from him back to Uhura and rolled his eyes meaningfully. Sulu gave a slight shake of the head, a smile momentarily playing around his lips until Uhura turned to look at him, whereupon his expression transformed into a picture of ‘who me?’ innocence.

Music started playing at the front of the hall and all eyes suddenly snapped to the front. The newly graduated cadets stepped onto the stage one by one to be congratulated by the top brass. As Spock’s name was called Kirk leant forward, holding his breath. Spock hadn’t shown it, but he knew how much this day meant to him. His eyes were riveted on the Vulcan as he stepped forward. Spock glanced into the audience and, even among the hundreds of people crammed into the hall to witness the event, his eyes picked out Kirk alone. His expression never changed, but Kirk felt the smile nonetheless and he grinned back, his heart swelling with pride.

~*~*~*~

Kirk’s pride in his lover quickly turned to boredom as the graduation ceremony dragged on for what seemed like hours; face after face beaming out from the stage while friends and relatives in the audience clapped and cheered enthusiastically. Judging by McCoy’s fidgeting in the seat next to him, he was just as fed up. Kirk glanced over at Uhura. As he expected she was looking straight at the stage, her back ramrod straight, not a fidget in sight. He sighed to himself. He’d never say it out loud, but sometimes he could see quite clearly why she and Spock had been an item. He gazed around at the audience and spotted Sarek and Amanda seated on the opposite side of the room. As he looked Amanda turned slightly and caught his eye, giving him a warm smile. He smiled back. 

He’d only met Spock’s parents once, just after he and the Vulcan had cemented the link between them. He’d taken to Amanda immediately. She was every bit as warm and welcoming as Spock’s descriptions of her had led him to believe she would be. Sarek…well, Sarek might take a bit more winning over, but hopefully there’d be plenty of time for that. Kirk frowned to himself as that thought occurred to him, a worry that had been lurking in his mind ever since he’d come to the academy came to the forefront. Spock had graduated. He could, and most likely would, be posted to a Starship. 

Spock hadn’t spoken of what might happen after graduation and Kirk had taken his lead, not mentioning it either. He hoped the Vulcan would bring up the subject eventually. There was no way he’d try to hold his lover back, but the thought of him leaving struck an icy dagger of fear into his heart. He concentrated on the link between them and received a ripple of warmth back. If anyone had asked him a year ago if he would want the presence of another in his mind he’d have laughed in their face, but the link was soothing, reassuring. As Spock had said would happen, they couldn’t read each other’s minds, but they always knew the other was there, and now Kirk couldn’t imagine being without the cool, rational echo of Spock inside him.

Finally, mercifully, the proceedings drew to a close. Kirk leapt up from his seat and moved out into the wide aisle, eager to find Spock. The new graduates had all been hustled off behind stage and the audience were milling around, waiting for their nearest and dearest to appear. McCoy, who’d followed him out into the aisle, elbowed him in the ribs. “Are Spock’s mom and dad here?” he whispered, not very quietly.

“Yeah,” Kirk answered, pointing in the direction of the Sarek and Amanda, who were engaged in conversation with Admiral Tensho, “just over there.” 

McCoy peered into the crowd and grinned as he caught sight of the tall, imposing figure of the Vulcan ambassador. “Well, come on then,” he said cheerfully. “Aren’t you gonna introduce us?”

Kirk gave him a suspicious look as he registered the eagerness in his voice. McCoy and Spock hadn’t exactly hit it off in the time they’d known each other. The doctor lost no opportunity to rib the Vulcan, needling him about everything from the points on his ears and his pedantic way of speaking to his reliance on logic and his habit of correcting everyone’s grammar. Spock, for his part, had developed an uncanny ability to pick out the one thing in any given situation that would reduce the doctor to a spluttering mess of indignation and to mercilessly use it to give every bit as good as he got. Kirk sighed as he caught the glint in McCoy’s eye. He had a feeling this sudden eagerness to meet Spock’s parents had very little to do with wanting to be polite and everything to do with a hope of gleaning some information he could use as ammunition in their continuing battle of logic versus emotionalism.

Uhura and Sulu, who’d both been witnesses to the frequent squabbles between Human and Vulcan, joined them just in time to overhear the doctor’s request and Uhura fixed him with a look of exasperated amusement. 

“You,” she said accusingly, “just want to quiz his mom on whether he spent his childhood building sandcastles and getting into stuff he shouldn’t have.”

McCoy widened his eyes in his best approximation of a wrongly accused innocent. “I resent that suggestion,” he said indignantly. “Besides, I’d put serious money on him spending his entire youth peering into a test tube.” He looked thoughtful. “Actually,” he added, “on second thoughts I bet he was one of those weird kids who spent his time dissecting bugs and doing math puzzles.” 

Kirk smiled, thinking of what Spock had shared with him about his childhood. But he kept his mouth shut, not about to enlighten McCoy about all the times Spock had spent gazing up at the stars while petting a creature that, despite the Vulcan’s assertions to the contrary, resembled nothing more closely than a giant teddy bear. 

Sulu clapped the doctor on the back. “I think you might find, Doc, that on Vulcan the weird kids were the ones who didn’t spend their time doing math and dissecting bugs,” he said, then peered around the room. “Where’s Pavel, anyway?” he asked. “I thought he said he’d be here.”

Uhura smirked. “Oh, Gaila’s been giving him some language coaching,” she said, then laughed as three pairs of eyes looked at her in shock. “She has,” she insisted. “She says he’s too young for anything else but too sweet to refuse. I guess their lesson overran…”

“Yeah right,” Kirk said knowingly, “I bet he doesn’t think he’s too young.” He shook his head. Even though he wasn’t remotely interested in anyone but Spock these days, the Orion’s powerful pheromones were enough to bring him out in a sweat if he spent too long in her company, so god knows how a teenager would cope. Badly he suspected.

“Christ,” McCoy muttered, rolling his eyes as he imagined the likely outcome of mixing the Russian’s practically impenetrable accent with Gaila’s unique take on the spoken word. Shakespeare would turn in his grave. “Talk about the blind leading the blind.”

“The blind leading the blind, Doctor?” a voice questioned behind them. Kirk turned and favoured his lover with a welcoming grin as McCoy grimaced. “Oh spare me, Spock,” the doctor groaned before Kirk could get a word out. “I know neither Gaila nor Chekov is visually impaired, I know there’s no leading of any sort likely to be taking place and I know our Human sayings are illogical in the extreme, so don’t bother pointing it out.”

Spock raised an eyebrow and Kirk’s grin got wider - he knew McCoy found the gesture nearly as irritating as he himself found it hot as hell. “I had no intention of saying any such thing,” Spock said dryly. “On the contrary; the concept of uninformed and incompetent people leading others who are similarly incapable seems singularly applicable to many of the actions I have witnessed among humankind.” He paused and raised his other eyebrow to join the first. “I must compliment you on your observational skills, Doctor. I had no idea they were so keenly honed.”

Kirk and Sulu burst out laughing as McCoy spluttered in outrage. Spock ignored all three of them and turned towards Uhura before McCoy could begin to formulate a response. “Nyota,” he said, “I am gratified by your presence.” 

Uhura smiled warmly at him. “You’re my friend,” she said. “Of course I’d be here.”

Spock nodded. “Would you care to join Jim and I and my parents for dinner?” he asked, addressing the question to all three of their friend. 

McCoy visibly brightened at the question, even through his indignation, and Uhura quickly stepped forward, grabbing him by the arm. “Thanks, Spock, but I think we’ll pass,” she replied before the doctor could say anything. McCoy opened his mouth to protest, even more eager than ever to get one over on the Vulcan and not keen to miss a prime opportunity. Uhura fixed him with a pointed look before turning back to Spock. “I’m sure your parents would like some time with you and Jim,” she continued. “Don’t they leave for Vulcan shortly?”

Spock nodded. “Affirmative,” he answered. “They are due to depart at 08.00hrs tomorrow.” 

Sulu moved to McCoy’s other side. “Then they won’t want us lot intruding,” he said firmly. He liked Spock and Jim but he could think of ways he’d rather spend an evening than making small talk with the Vulcan ambassador to Earth, who even from across the room looked intimidating to say the least. “Besides,” he added, “aren’t there parties we’re supposed to be going to?”

Uhura nodded. “Yes,” she agreed. “Come on Leonard,” she added, pulling on the doctor’s arm. “Let’s leave these guys to their dinner.” McCoy allowed himself to be reluctantly pulled away, throwing one last glare at Spock. Uhura grinned over her shoulder at Kirk. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” she said jauntily.

Kirk made a face at her. He wasn’t exactly enamoured by the prospect of an evening with Sarek any more than Sulu was. He wasn’t entirely sure, despite Spock’s assertions that Vulcans did not put the same stock by first impressions as Humans did, that Sarek had as yet got over being confronted in his own hallway with a bruised, dishevelled and undoubtedly rude young man who’d obviously just spent the night with his son. He sighed as his friends walked away and looked over at Spock. The Vulcan was regarding him with the expression that meant he was amused but carefully hiding it. 

“My father does not dislike you,” he said.

Kirk gave him a grumpy look back. There was no hiding his feelings where Spock was concerned. “If you say so,” he said grudgingly. 

Spock glanced around to see if anyone was observing them before gently brushing Kirk’s fingers with his own in a touch that was gone almost as soon as the Human felt it. “I will appreciate your presence at dinner,” he said.

Kirk smiled at him. “Then you got it,” he said decisively. “Let’s go round up the folks,” he added and set off in the direction of Amanda and Sarek, who still seemed to be deep in discussion with Admiral Tensho. Spock’s eyes widened a little at the phrase but he said nothing as he turned to follow his lover through the crowd.

~*~*~*~

Sarek looked across the dining table at his son’s partner. The young man was enthusiastically attacking the plate of food in front of him, as though he had not eaten in days. His all out attack on the food bore little resemblance to the precise and measured way Spock ate. The two appeared to a study in contrasts in most things, the ambassador thought. Their approach to dining could be regarded as not unreflective of their approach to life. It was a phenomenon he had noticed many times before. For a member of the diplomatic service a keen eye and attention to detail was essential, as was using every tool at your disposal to try to understand the character and motivations of those you encountered. During the long periods of time he had spent on Earth, Sarek had of necessity become a keen student of Human behaviour, no less so for having married a female of that species. He paused in his ruminations on the differences between his son and the man he had brought into their family, to glance towards Amanda, who sat at his side.

She returned his look with a glimmer of amusement in the soft brown eyes that were so like Spock’s. Even before they had bonded, she had always been able to see inside him, to ‘read him like a book’, as she was often wont to remind him. Since the moment they had met at a diplomatic function, Sarek had found her insight and ability to understand those around her most fascinating. Although when he had suggested it was for this reason that he had initially been drawn to her she had laughed uproariously. “So,” she had said through the gales of laughter, “when our eyes met across that crowded room, it was my insight you were interested in?” She had continued laughing, most illogically he thought, until he had stopped her mouth with a kiss. It was true that there were many other of her qualities to which he had been attracted but he had long since stopped attempting to analyse why he should find her so much more compelling than anyone else. It was as it was and in this instance, he concluded, logic could offer no more insight.

During the early days of their courtship, Sarek had encouraged Amanda to join the diplomatic service herself. He believed her gifts would lend themselves most admirably to the service. However, she had resisted all such efforts, preferring instead to turn her attentions to teaching the children of those employed by the embassy. Sarek had never been particularly comfortable in the presence of children. He found the illogical exuberance displayed by the young of most species, even his own on occasion, to be quite wearing after a relatively short period of time. Amanda, however, revelled in their company. The embassy children, she had told him, were like a microcosm of the Federation, but without the preoccupations and ulterior motives of the adults. He could learn a lot, she suggested laughingly, by spending a few hours in the playground with her small charges. 

Looking back in the years since, he had wondered if it might have benefited their son to have been raised in such an environment. He had been concerned about the influences Spock would encounter should they have chosen to raise him on Earth. However, he had not fully comprehended the prejudice his half-Human child would face on Vulcan. His own years among other races, it seemed, had made him more tolerant than many of those on his homeworld. Xenophobia was illogical but, nevertheless, it existed. His limited experience with children had not prepared him for the reality of the difficulties his son had faced with his peers. Spock had struggled to fit in and, despite what outward appearances might have suggested, Sarek had been concerned for his welfare. He had thought encouraging him to chose his own path would be of assistance. He had not intended to suggest that the Vulcan way was better than the Human or that his son was any less worthy for being a child of two worlds, he had striven simply to offer him a tool by which to better protect himself. 

Now, looking across the table at his son and the man he had chosen to share his life, Sarek could perceive a contentment in Spock that had not been there before. His relationship and the place he had found in StarFleet appeared to have given him a sense of belonging that had not been offered him on Vulcan. Sarek was gratified that it was so. He felt a gentle touch on his thigh and as he met his wife’s knowing eyes, he resisted the urge to sigh. In this, as in many things, she had shown more insight than he. He had not been convinced the brash and bruised young Human he had encountered in the hallway of his home 18.3 months ago was a suitable mate for his son but Amanda had thought otherwise. One could never underestimate a mother’s instinct when it came to her child, it seemed.

Amanda turned her gaze to the two young men opposite her. “So what are your plans now you’ve graduated?” she asked Spock.

Kirk paused with his fork halfway to his mouth. Spock’s mother had asked the question he had been awaiting the answer to, but now he wasn’t sure if he wanted to hear Spock’s response.

“I intend to remain at the Academy,” Spock immediately answered.

Kirk stared at him. “You do?” he asked.

Spock returned his gaze. “Of course,” he answered, “did you doubt this?”

“Well, yeah,” Kirk said, “I mean, you never said.”

“I have been offered a permanent instructorship within the science faculty,” Spock elaborated. He fixed his mate with a curious look. “I assumed you would have ascertained my wish to remain on Earth until you have finished your studies.” He paused and tilted his head to one side and Amanda smiled at the gesture so similar to Sarek’s. “It would not be logical for us to be parted,” Spock finished.

Kirk’s mouth was open in astonishment as the Vulcan resumed eating his meal. “You could have told me,” he exclaimed.

Spock gave him a slight frown. “As I said, I thought you knew.”

Amanda laughed delightedly at the expression on Kirk’s face. The mixture of bemusement, delight and a little bit of anger was one she was sure Sarek had been witness to many times during their own relationship. She reached across the table and patted Kirk’s hand. “You’ll get used to it,” she offered sympathetically.

Kirk threw Spock a look of exasperation before looking over to meet Amanda’s eyes. “Promise?” he asked plaintively. Spock continued to eat his meal, a pair of raised eyebrows the only sign that he comprehended the reason for his partner’s frustration, and Amanda chuckled again.

She glanced at Sarek, who raised his eyebrows in exactly the same way as Spock. She squeezed his leg under the table. “I promise,” she smiled at Kirk. “Although,” she added, a mischievous twinkle in her eye, “I’m not saying it won’t drive you crazy.”

~*~*~*~

Kirk stood in the lounge of Sarek and Amanda’s home and stared at the portrait of Spock on the wall. He felt a movement as his lover came to stand beside him. The Vulcan’s parents had left the room for a moment, Amanda to fetch them some tea, Sarek to take a call that come in from the embassy. Kirk took the opportunity privacy afforded them to reach out to take Spock’s hand and the two of them regarded the painting in silence. “We never did figure out how that got here, did we?” he mused. In truth he’d forgotten all about it until he’d spotted it on the wall, where Amanda had hung it following his initial ill-fated visit. So much had happened since then that it really didn’t seem of great importance.

“Indeed,” Spock said. He paused for a second before continuing. “Do you ever regret your decision not to follow a career in art?” he asked.

Kirk looked at him in surprise. “Of course not,” he answered. “StarFleet is what I always wanted to do, I just lost sight of that for a while.” He squeezed the hand in his own. “Besides,” he added, “what better subject can I have than the universe?” He blushed a little at his sudden philosophical turn of phrase as Spock turned to look at him. The Vulcan said nothing, just gave his hand an answering squeeze.

 

~*~*~*~

 

Spock stood at the foot of the bed in Kirk’s quarters at StarFleet Academy. He looked down at his lover and Kirk stretched out as if basking in the warmth of his appreciative gaze. The Vulcan felt his penis harden and elongate at the sight of him in all his naked glory. He felt his pulse quicken as moved his hand down to stroke his own shaft, his eyes not leaving Spock’s own. The Vulcan watched, still fully-dressed, as Kirk touched himself, the light from the bedside light casting a golden glow over his skin. The sight was mesmerising and one he could never get enough of. The Human arched his back at the pleasure of touching himself under the watchful gaze of his lover. “Spock,” he moaned, his desire reverberating through that one whispered word. The Vulcan took in a sharp breath. He wanted to touch him, but he also wanted to carrying on just looking. The feeling of the two urges opposing each other was irresistibly compelling. He knew from experience that he could only force himself to be still for a few moments longer. But he wished to make the anticipation last as long as he could stand it. He could almost feel the coolness of the body in front of him without touching. If he closed his eyes he could taste him, could feel the hardness of his body writhing beneath him, hear the whispered secrets of desire close to his ear. His cock was straining forward, pulling him towards his lover, telling him that it couldn’t wait much longer.

Kirk watched as Spock slowly removed his tunic to reveal his well-muscled chest. He toed off his boots and bent to pull off his socks, his movements a silent striptease. Still in his pants and the tight black t-shirt he habitually wore under his shirt to ward off the chill on Earth, Spock knelt on the bed between Kirk’s legs, pushing them gently apart. Kirk looked up at him as he spread his legs wider to make more room. He felt his balls tighten in anticipation as hot hands ran up the insides of his thighs. He curled his toes and squeezed his eyes shut. He was already so close. “Spock,” he panted again.

The Vulcan’s hands moved to Kirk’s hipbones. He knelt over him, watching as his hand began to move faster. The Human’s hips jerked involuntarily upwards and his eyes flew open as Spock pushed against the movement, pinning him firmly against the bed. What he saw made him catch his breath. Spock’s eyes were dark with passion, intently focussed on his cock and the hand that pumped it. Naked on the bed with his fully-dressed lover holding him down Kirk felt acutely vulnerable yet strong and powerful at the same time. It was the most erotic sensation of his life. It was too much, with a cry he surrendered to his orgasm, his seed spilling out over belly. His hand flopped to his side and he lay there, panting as aftershocks sent tremors through his body.

Spock kept his eyes fixed on Kirk as he lifted his t-shirt over his head and flung it to the floor, before moving his hand to his waistband. He pulled off his pants, taking his underwear with them and reached out to touch his fingers to the fluid on his lover’s stomach. He scooped up the semen into the palm of his hand.

Kirk watched breathlessly as Spock coated his penis with Human cum. The Vulcan made a little noise in the back of his throat as he finally touched himself and Kirk couldn’t stop himself from wriggling on the bed at the sight of it. He pulled his legs back in a silent invitation and Spock reached to press a finger to his most intimate spot. The Human gasped as one digit pushed inside his tight orifice.

Spock watched in fascination as his finger disappeared inside Kirk. The sight never ceased to be one enthralled him. He loved to see his lover writhing as he pushed up inside him. He added another semen-coated finger to the first, moving them around to prepare the entrance for what was to come. His cock was throbbing now, but he ignored it as best as he could, concentrating instead on the sight of the Human as he moved up and down on his fingers, his breath coming in little gasping moans. When he could wait no longer, Spock position himself over his lover and placed his cock against the now moistened and compliant access to Kirk’s body. He closed his eyes and moaned as he pushed his way in.

Kirk cried out as Spock moved inside him, his thrusts quickly getting faster and more urgent. He had never allowed anyone else to fuck him like this but once he’d experienced it with Spock, he couldn’t get enough of it. The sensation of the big Vulcan cock filling his ass was like no other pleasure. It felt good and right, dirty and wonderful, demanding and loving. It felt complete. He felt a hot hand move up to touch his temple and arched his body up into his lover’s as he felt the powerful rush of love obliterate any conscious thought. The thrill of Spock’s orgasm held him in its thrall, the pleasure every bit as intense as it had been within his own climax.

Spock collapsed on top of his lover and they clung together, holding each other close as shudders periodically washed over them. When their bodies eventually stilled and their breathing had settled to somewhere near normal, Spock lifted his head back so he could fix his eyes on his lover’s. Kirk reached up and traced a finger down his jaw line.

“Did I ever tell you,” Spock said conversationally into the contented silence, “that I programme the Kobayashi Maru test?”

Kirk stared at him in stunned silence. How could he not have known that?

Spock raised an eyebrow at the expression on the face of the man lying beneath him. “I do not suppose you believe in no-win scenarios?” he asked.

Kirk shook his head, not trusting himself to speak right at that moment. He didn’t believe in no-win scenarios any more, that was true. After all that had happened to him in the past two years, and everything that he now had in his life despite the seeming odds against it, how could he?

Spock rolled off his lover and lay on the bed beside him, staring up at the ceiling. “I thought you would not,” he said.

Kirk turned on his side and regarded the familiar profile of his T’hy’La and Spock turned his head to meet his eyes, the ghost of a smile still lingering around his lips. “I do not believe I do either,” he said.

 

~*~*~*~

**EPILOGUE**

Emmie O’Leary stood on the edge of the crowded room, self-consciously adjusting her gown. She hated these formal events, but attending them was one of the duties of the embassy staff and it wasn’t something she could avoid, however much she might want to.

The room was full of beings from all corners of the Federation, all of whom seemed to be enthusiastically talking at once. She edged her way along the wall, so she was at least out of the way of the entrance and found herself virtually in the orchestra pit. They were playing the theme from a recent movie remake. It was an old-fashioned sounding number that had somehow caught people’s attention and seemed to be playing wherever she went these days. An Affair to Remember, she thought it was called - either the film or the song; or maybe both.

She stood on tiptoe to look across the room and spotted Sarek almost immediately. He was standing on his own on the far side of the room, wearing a sombre, dark-coloured tunic and pants much the same as those he wore to the embassy each day and looking every bit as handsome. She allowed herself to stare at him unnoticed for a moment. She started to make her way towards him, weaving her way through the various groups of chattering beings.

Across the room, Sarek watched her slow progress a she got waylaid by several conversations with various guests. He and Emmie had been working together for nearly a year. In that time, somewhat to Sarek’s surprise, they had become friends. He had not expected to find friendship with a Human but Emmie was a most extraordinary woman. He had discovered that he both valued her intellect and found her company most pleasant. He was currently an adviser to the Vulcan ambassador but he fully expected to take over that role in due course. As his friendship with Emmie had progressed he had considered the wisdom of taking a Human wife in order to further promote understanding between their two species. He had come to the conclusion it was the logical thing to do and had decided to broach the subject with his friend. 

“Hi,” she said as she reached him.

Sarek met her eyes and answered her smile with a slight upturn of one side of his mouth. “Good evening, Emmie,” he said formally. “May I compliment you on your choice of attire?”

Emmie felt herself redden. For Sarek that was tantamount to telling her she looked gorgeous and she wasn’t used to such comments from her saturnine friend. The Vulcan had been attached to his planet’s embassy on Earth for long enough that he was familiar with most of the niceties of Human social interaction, but he rarely used them himself. Although, she had noticed that recently he seemed to have been making more of an effort with such things.

“You flatterer,” she said, laughing off her discomfort. “Having fun?” she added to change the subject, and was rewarded with a quizzically raised eyebrow. “Forget I asked,” she said, smiling widely at the familiar expression. “So, have the Tellarites arrived yet?” she questioned, changing the subject.

“Not that I have noticed,” Sarek replied.

“And you would have,” Emmie supplied. The chances of Sarek failing to notice the arrival of the delegation most likely to cause a diplomatic incident at what was supposed to be a simple social event at the end of the inter-planetary conference were close to zero. She was sure the Vulcan could calculate them to within several decimal points but he had largely refrained from voicing such calculations since she’d given into the exasperated urge to tell him just how irritating it was.

“Indeed,” Sarek agreed.

“Well at least they might liven things up a bit,” she commented, looking around the room.

The comment prompted another raised eyebrow from her companion. “I have never understood the Human propensity to wish for discord to ‘liven up’ occasions that are proceeding perfectly adequately,” he said dryly. 

“Oh come on, Sarek,” Emmie said, “even you have to admit these things get pretty boring after a while. Although,” she added, tilting her head towards the orchestra, “I was thinking this song might be a good one for us to have a go at, maybe try it with your mandolin?”

Sarek quirked his eyebrow. “The work does have an interesting melody,” he allowed, then paused. “An admission of boredom at a diplomatic event is illogical from someone who has chosen diplomacy as a career path,” he added, fixing his colleague with a pointed look.

Emmie threw him a glare. “God, you’re so rude sometimes,” she muttered. “I’ll have you know I saw Ambassador Sorin on the way over here, and he looked pretty damn bored to me.”

“I find that doubtful,” Sarek said, but he suddenly sounded distracted. He was staring across the room, his expression not one she had ever seen on his face before. Emmie followed his gaze and her heart missed a beat as she saw the beautiful dark-haired woman catch his eye and smile warmly. She felt the blood drain out of her face and her stomach lurched. 

Sarek felt a jolt of recognition as he met the eyes of the Human woman, even though he was positive they had never met. It was most unsettling. He forced himself to tear his eyes away to focus on his companion. Emmie was staring at him with an expression he was not sure how to interpret. “I wish to speak with you in private,” he said, the words coming out more quickly than was usual. He was not sure why, but he felt a sudden urgency to talk to her now rather than after the function as he had planned.

Emmie scanned the familiar face. He was looking at her with something like fear in his eyes and with a flash of insight she knew what he wanted to speak to her about. It should have been the answer to her dreams, but it wasn’t. She had seen the way he had looked at the other woman, and she knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that he would never look at her that way. “I don’t think so,” she said slowly, wondering even as the words left her mouth if she wouldn’t regret this. “I have to go mingle,” she blurted out. Her eyes flicked across the room. “Why don’t you go and introduce yourself?” she said. Sarek frowned slightly as he followed the direction of her gaze and she forced out a laugh. “Go on,” she encouraged. “I’ll be fine.”

Despite Emmie’s words, Sarek stood rooted to the spot, feeling unsure as to what course of action to take. He wondered briefly if he were unwell but he could not detect any symptoms other than this strange inability to move. As he watched, the dark-haired woman said something to her companion then began to make her way towards him. 

“Hello,” she said, smiling at him. Emmie watched for a moment as they talked. They only had eyes for each other and neither registered it as she slipped quietly away, unshed tears hotly burning the back of her eyes.

The following day she told Sarek of her intention to leave the embassy. He tried to dissuade her but she couldn’t continue to work with him, couldn’t continue their friendship as if nothing had changed. She didn’t bear him any ill will. She knew he had no idea how she felt about him and had not intended to cause her pain. 

Emmie O’Leary set off for a new life on a new colony, the only reminder of Sarek the mandolin in the case by her side. On New Virginia she found a mutual love with Tiberius Kirk. In time they married and made a good life for themselves, raising a son who spent his evenings looking up at the stars, to where his own path would eventually take him.

Emmie Kirk never forgot her past and she never forgot those she had loved and lost, but she came to believe that things usually happen for a reason, even if sometimes you must wait for the future to make sense of the past. Like a jigsaw, life has many different pieces but in the end each one will only fit in the place it’s meant to be. 

And that truly is a wondrous thing.

 

~*~*~*~

 

__

_A love affair is a wondrous thing  
That we’ll rejoice in remembering  
Our love was born in our first embrace  
And a page was torn out of time and space  
Our love affair may it always be  
A flame to burn through eternity_

\- Harold Adamson and Leo McCarey, An Affair to Remember


End file.
